Frozen Mist
by Hermione Eveningfall
Summary: Ichabod Crane's work in Sleepy Hollow is interrupted by a prank gone too far. This story is based on movie!verse, and it's a rather old story Ive been working on, so I apologize in advance haha. :
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Ichabod Crane sighed with relief as the carriage pulled to a  
stop. The young Constable from New York City had finally reached his  
destination; a tiny town known to everyone as Sleepy Hollow. He  
thanked the driver once took out his two large black suitcases. It  
had been a rather dull journey, two very long days and nights of  
traveling, and Ichabod was weary. Retrieving his two, large black  
suitcases, Ichabod thanked the driver, handing him a coin.

By order of the New York City judge, he had to come to this place to  
investigate three mysterious murders: three be-headings. Walking  
down the long dirt road that cut through the town, Ichabod found  
that himself clutching the handles of his bags so tightly that his  
knuckles ached. He heard the sound of windows opening and closing  
and could feel the disapproving eyes of the townspeople on him. "It  
couldn't be my appearance," he thought, standing up straighter and  
making his strides more authoritative. He was not an unhandsome  
fellow, though he was rather plain. He had jet black hair that was  
always stubbornly untidy, no matter what he did to it, and his eyes  
a deep, chocolate brown. Ichabod's skin was unusually pale, giving  
him an almost sickly appearance, as if he had never seen the light  
of day. With a slight shudder, the constable quickened his pace,  
heading up the hill toward his destination: the large manor house of  
Baltus Van Tassel.

Van Tassel had offered to lodge the young investigator while he  
helped the town solve its dilemma. Ichabod prepared to knock on the  
door when he noticed a couple a few feet away from him, acting in a  
very inappropriate manner. Ichabod turned his head and pretended not  
to notice, rapping on the large wooden door and stepping back a pace  
to wait. At last, two maids opened the door and bid him enter.

Inside the Van Tassel home, a large party was taking place. Gay  
music played in the background, and people of all ages were dancing,  
eating, or just sitting around and chatting. Hardly anyone noticed  
Ichabod as he gazed around with a great curiosity. The smell of  
sweet apple cider filled his nostrils, and he realized that he had  
not eaten a single thing since breakfast. Ever aware of protocol and  
manners, he knew it would not be polite to help himself to the food  
until he met the Van Tassels, so he bore his growling stomach as  
well as he could.

"The pickety witch, the pickety witch," A light female voice caught  
his ear, and he noticed a blindfolded teenage girl stumbling about  
in the middle of a circle of a group of people. "Who's got a kiss  
for the Pickity Witch?" She had a head of long, thick, golden girls,  
and was wearing an ivory and lavender gown. The girl waved her arms  
in circles, as though she were swimming on air. "The witch, the  
witch," she continued chanting, until her hands came upon Ichabod's  
face, and she stopped in mid stride. "Is it Theodore?" She asked  
curiously, touching his cheeks tenderly. Ichabod felt his heart  
racing at full speed as she did this, but he did not pull away.

"Forgive me, Miss," Ichabod stuttered, "But I am just a stranger."  
He noticed another man, no older than thirty, standing a few inches  
away from the young woman. He was broad-shouldered, with thin,  
shoulder-length brown hair and hazel eyes.

"Then have a kiss on account." Ichabod stifled a gasp as the girl  
reached up and planted a tender kiss on his cheek, before removing  
her kerchief. She gazed at him through soft brown eyes, favoring him  
with a shy smile.

Ichabod cleared his throat and folded his hands in front of  
him. "Yes, well, I am here looking for Baltus Van Tassel."

The girl blushed, twisting the handkerchief in her hand. "I am his  
daughter," she replied, "Katrina Van Tassel."

Ichabod smiled at her. "My pleasure." He gave a bit of a bow.

The man who stood beside Katrina suddenly stepped between the two  
of them, his eyes flashing. "We have not heard your name yet,  
friend," he snarled.

"Brom!" Katrina cried, holding him back with her hand. "Leave him  
alone!"

Ichabod gave a huff and straightened his jacket. "That is because I  
have not yet said it. Now if you will excuse me…"

Brom grabbed the collar of Ichabod's shirt and pulled him up a  
bit. "You need some manners."

Ichabod gaped in surprise. Before anything else could occur,  
Baltus Van Tassel himself came into the large room, carrying a glass  
of wine in his hand. He was an old fellow with a mop of thick gray  
hair on his head, and a full face. Baltus was grinning, his cheeks  
were rosy. "Come, come, we want no raised voices," He began, puzzled  
by the ruckus, and then he noticed Ichabod. "It is only to raise the  
spirits during these dark times that I and my good wife," he paused  
to indicate the matron that entered at his side. Lady Van Tassel, a  
woman in her early forties, smiled gently. She had smooth blonde  
hair pulled into a tight French twist on the back of her head, and  
blue eyes. "Are giving our little party. Young sir, you are welcome,  
even if you are selling something…"

Ichabod glanced at Katrina standing beside Brom, a rather  
disgruntled look creasing her brow. He approached Van Tassel,  
removing a sealed letter from his inner pocket. "I am Constable  
Ichabod Crane, sir. I have been sent from the city with a letter of  
introduction. I believe it is you who offered to give me room and  
board?" Much to his embarrassment, Ichabod's stomach growled at the  
thought of food.

Baltus Van Tassel nodded in understanding. Lady Van Tassel gave a  
respectful nod. "Then we are very grateful to you, Constable."

Ichabod nodded respectfully to her, and then Baltus spoke again.

"Have you had supper?"

Ichabod blinked. "Pardon?"

"Please, feel free to help yourself to any of the food on the  
tables. I am sure the long journey has made you hungry?"

Ichabod chuckled. "I thank you for your kindness, though I would ask  
your permission to speak with you alone afterwards? We have some  
important matters to discuss…" He was careful not to speak of his  
exact reasons for being here, so as not to cause alarm to the guests  
in the house. Lady Van Tassel cocked her head to one side as her  
husband agreed to this, and then sent Ichabod on his way to eat  
something.

Katrina watched as Ichabod went to find a seat by himself, with a  
plate and a glass. "Brom, I would ask you to mind your own manners  
while he is here," She whispered, "He is only a guest in our house,  
and he means no harm." She turned away from her suitor.

Brom gritted his teeth, but agreed to respect her wishes  
nonetheless. He vowed, however, to strike if Ichabod made any sudden  
moves on his target. Keeping a close eye on the two, Brom did his  
best to mingle with the crowd.

Katrina walked over to where Ichabod sat nibbling on a bit of stew,  
bread and cheese. She sat beside him on the bench. He glanced at  
her, and nearly choked on the mouthful of wine he had just taken  
down. "Oh you startled me," He gasped. Katrina grinned.

"I am sorry. You seemed so lonely all by yourself. Do you not like  
to make merry?"

Ichabod shrugged. "I apologize for my rudeness, Miss, but I am very  
tired this evening. I have traveled two days from the city after  
all. If you will forgive me." He gave her a hopeful expression, and  
she touched his arm.

She touched his arm lightly. "I understand. I should like to know  
more about you once you are settled in."

Ichabod flushed at how forward this young woman was. He  
nodded. "Yes, thank you."

Katrina chewed on her lower lip before standing and walking back  
over to Brom. The brawny farmer gave Ichabod a suspicious glance  
before taking the young woman into his arms. Ichabod finished his  
supper and wine quickly then followed a servant girl to his guest  
room, high beneath the rafters of the imposing house. She set down  
his bags and curtsied, leaving him to himself.

Ichabod began unpacking, pulling several strange devices from his  
suitcases. He had designed the instruments himself, specifically for  
investigating murder cases. He would much rather have gone right to  
bed than have to meet with Baltus Van Tassel downstairs, but he had  
to make sure the details were discussed immediately so he could  
begin. He picked up a large, leatherbound book under one arm, and  
hurried down the long, wooden staircase.

Ichabod found his host in the library, surrounded by several other  
men who were either sitting or standing. Lady Van Tassel stood  
beside her husband, sipping from a glass of wine. She lifted her  
gaze to the constable when she heard the door to the room open.  
Baltus beamed when he saw Ichabod walk in, and turned to her. "That  
will be all," he shooed her away. Once she had left, he turned to  
the newcomer. "Excellent!" he exclaimed. "We are joined by Doctor  
Thomas Lancaster, Constable. And to his left are the Reverend  
Steenwyck, and our able magistrate, Samuel Philipse, both keeping  
order in their own ways."

Ichabod raised an eyebrow. "And you are?" he asked curiously,  
wondering about his host's position in the town.

"A simple farmer," Baltus replied calmly, "who has prospered."

"And landlord and banker," Philipse added with a chuckle, taking a  
swig from a small flask he held. Baltus chuckled before continuing  
his introductions. "May we proceed?"

"Lastly, we are joined by James Hardenbrook, our Notary."

Ichabod glanced at a weathered old man who sat in a chair in the  
corner. He was blind in one eye, the opaque orb giving him a rather  
creepy appearance.

At last, Ichabod bowed to the Sleepy Hollow town fathers. "An honor,  
gentlemen. In time, I will need every detail of the three murders  
you've had, but for now, I ask only if you have any theory at all as  
to who the killer might be?" He set his book a table and accepted  
the cup of tea Baltus offered him.

The men stared at each other and then at Ichabod, as though they  
thought he had lost his mind.

"I beg your pardon?" Doctor Lancaster asked, very confused.

Ichabod blinked. "I say, is there any one person suspect in these  
acts?"

Baltus looked a bit nervous as he rocked back and forth on his  
heels. "Just how much about this case did your superiors bother to  
tell you?" He asked.

Ichabod looked him straight in the eye. "Only that the victims were  
slain in open ground, their heads found severed from their bodies."

Reverend Steenwyck shook his head after taking a sip of  
brandy. "Their heads were not found separate," he corrected. "Their  
heads were not found at all."

"Well," Ichabod thought. "This is certainly unusual. He felt his  
heart racing as he heard the news and wondered why the judge had not  
bothered to tell him this part of the story. Either that, or they  
had gotten it mixed up themselves. Or maybe this was part of the  
punishment? To let him find out on his own? "Most likely punishment  
for my presumption," he chided himself.

After a few moments of awkward silence, he managed to compose  
himself. "The heads were g-gone?" He found the teacup he held was  
trembling against the saucer, due to his shaking hands. Ichabod  
could hear the clanging of the spoon against the china. He felt  
slightly lightheaded.

"Taken," said Hardenbrook. "Taken by the headless horseman." He  
tapped his fingertips together. "Taken back to hell…"

Ichabod nearly spit out a mouthful of tea. "I…I…what?"

"You had best sit down, Constable, while we explain our…theory to  
you. Go on, sit."

Ichabod sat down in the closest chair, setting his tea on the table  
beside it. His leather book remained where he had put it upon  
entering; he had forgotten about it for the time being. He leaned  
forward, prepared to listen to the landowner's tale, watching as  
Baltus lit his pipe quickly, and took a puff.

"The Horseman was a Hessian mercenary, sent to our shores by German  
princes to keep Americans under the yoke of England. But unlike his  
compatriots who came for money, the Horseman came...for love of  
carnage...and he was not like the others..."

Ichabod glanced at the rest of the company in the room, who were  
watching Baltus with raised eyes. Clearly they had all heard this  
story before.

Baltus continued, telling how the horseman would ride hard into  
battle upon his giant black steed, chopping off the heads of his  
enemies. Ichabod felt his stomach churning at the picture the story  
painted in his mind. Van Tassel wove a tale of the bloodthirsty  
Hessian riding hard into battle after battle astride his huge black  
stallion, chopping the heads off all opponents with ferocious glee.  
He then told of how the fiend met his end in the Western Woods of  
Sleepy Hollow, the soldiers who killed him chopping off the  
Hessian's head with his own sword. To this day, the Western Woods is  
a haunted place where brave men will not venture. For what was  
planted in the ground that day was a seed of evil." He paused  
uncomfortably.

"And so it has been for twenty years. But now the Hessian  
wakes -- he is on the rampage, cutting off heads where he finds  
them." He stopped at last, sighing with relief as though a great  
weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Had he not been leaning  
against the fireplace, Ichabod was certain the man would sink to the  
ground. "And so it has been for twenty years. But now the Hessian  
wakes -- he is on the rampage, cutting off heads where he finds  
them." He stopped at last, sighing with relief as though a great  
weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Had he not been leaning  
against the fireplace, Ichabod was certain the man would sink to the  
ground.

Once again, the room was filled with an awkward silence, as Ichabod  
contemplated the story in his head. It was ridiculous…the story was  
pure nonsense. There were no such things as ghosts, especially not  
headless ones, this he was certain of. Ichabod was determined to  
prove this story false, and he stood up, nearly knocking his chair  
over backwards, causing everyone to jump.

"Are you saying…that this is what you believe?" He asked coolly. "I,  
myself, can hardly believe such foolish nonsense. It's a ghost  
story, one told on All Hallow's Eve to frighten children." His eyes  
held pity for the simple minds here in the country.

Philipse snorted, as Hardenbrook replied, "Seeing is believing, my  
boy, and plenty of the folk around these parts have laid eyes on  
this horseman."

"I refuse to believe it, I refuse!" Ichabod slammed his fist down on  
the table, upsetting his teacup. "The murderer of these victims is a  
being of flesh and blood, and I will discover…" He took a deep  
breath and held up his hand. "We have murders in New York without  
the benefit of ghosts and goblins…"

"You are a long way from New York, Constable," Baltus told him  
seriously.

Ichabod turned his back on the others, folding his arms tightly  
across his chest, trying to remain in control of himself. The  
Reverend walked over to the table where the constable's leather book  
lay and opened it. "They tell me you have brought books and  
trappings of scientific investigation," he wrinkled his nose in  
distain at what the pages contained. "This is the only book I  
recommend you study." He sat a very thick Bible down on to of the  
leather journal.

Ichabod whirled around, barely in command of his emotions. Fear and  
a certainty that these superstitious provincials were merely trying  
to scare him warred with his desire to see the murder brought to  
justice using his precious scientific methods. As steadily as  
possible, he gathered up his book, pausing a moment to glance inside  
the large Bible containing the Van Tassel family tree. "I am going  
to prove to you that this Horseman does not exist. Does NOT exist, I  
say. I will find the murderer and then we'll see!" He strode out of  
the room with long strides, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Baltus and the rest of the men blinked in surprise at the shy man's  
sudden outburst. "What a fool," Philipse murmured, taking a large  
sip from his flask. "He'll change his mind soon enough."

The others agreed. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Ichabod was fuming by the time he reached his quarters. Darkness had  
fallen over the villiage, and bright moonlight streamed through the  
windows. He paced back and forth across the room, muttering to  
himself. Eventually he pulled out of his pocket a strange object. It  
was a small, circular, cardboard cut out with the painting of a  
cardinal on one side, and an empty cage on the other. When you spun  
it around very fast, it appeared as though the cardinal was in the  
cage and out of it again. Ichabod remembered when his mother used  
this device to calm him when he was a child, and he felt a sudden  
overwhelming sense of sadness. She had died years ago, but he still  
felt the pain of the loss as though it had happened yesterday.

After a while, Ichabod found himself thinking about the next step in  
the case. He would certainly have to ask questions, such as where  
the victims had been found (though it was rather disappointing to  
know that the bodies would have been removed long before). There  
would be tracks to follow, patches of blood to inspect…so much would  
have to be done.

Ichabod pressed his hand against his mouth as he let out a rather  
loud yawn, before taking off his waistcoat. He was just about to  
place the coat over the desk chair, when there were a few knocks on  
the door. "Come in…" he grumbled, going over to sit on the bed.

The door opened, revealing the servant girl who had taken his bags  
up earlier. She was a pretty young woman, with long, chestnut brown  
hair pulled back into a bun, and light brown eyes. The servant wore  
a long, lilac-coloured gown with a white, lace apron tied around the  
front. In one hand, she carried a candlestick, and in the other a  
pitcher.

"Ah, thank you...what is your name?" Ichabod asked, smiling as she  
set everything down. Soon the light from the candle caused the room  
to glow in a soft, amber light.

"Sarah," the servant replied, and Ichabod noticed a slight blush  
creeping into her cheeks. "Would you care for a cup of warm milk  
before you go to sleep, Constable?"

Ichabod shook his head. "No thank you."

Sarah motioned towards the pitcher. "That is your washing water…the  
bowl is there beside it."

Ichabod nodded politely to her, before preparing to lie down.  
Before leaving, Sarah turned again, and walked over to him. "Thank  
God you're here," she whispered, startling him for a moment, as he  
had not seen her coming. She said nothing more and left the room at  
last. When she was gone, Ichabod settled down, and was asleep within  
minutes.

Katrina, meanwhile, sat at her vanity, gazing into the large, oval  
mirror. Her feet ached from all of the dancing she had done that  
evening, yet she was not quite tired enough to go to bed yet. She  
sighed as she patiently waited for her stepmother to brush her long,  
thick locks one hundred times. "Thirty eight…thirty nine…" Lady Van  
Tassel counted quietly.

"Well," Katrina spoke up, "I am disappointed…our first visitor from  
New York…" she paused, "He doesn't know where to put himself, and  
his feet are all over the place!" While her father held the meeting  
in the library, Katrina had hidden herself by the door so she could  
listen to what they were discussing. She found herself drawn to  
Constable Crane's voice in particular. He had such an odd manner,  
compared to the men of Sleepy Hollow. From what she heard, his head  
was filled with logic, and that in itself would make things  
difficult for him.

Lady Van Tassel gave her stepdaughter a smile. "Yes," she  
replied, "Not like your Brom. Finish brushing…I got to forty two. I  
must go and see your father." She turned and left the room, leaving  
Katrina alone. When she heard Brom's name, Katrina grimaced. She had  
known Brom Van Brunt for years, and they were friends. As far as  
Katrina was concerned, that was all she wanted him to be. She knew  
the townspeople expected her to marry him one day, as he belonged to  
the second wealthiest family in Sleepy Hollow. How Katrina had  
argued with her father about the situation. Katrina just did not  
love him the way everyone wanted her to.

Once she finished brushing her hair, she stood up, stretching her  
arms over her head, wondering if Ichabod was still awake. Katrina  
grabbed her robe and put it on, before tiptoeing out of her room,  
and made her way to Ichabod's. His door was slightly open, and she  
pushed it, stepping in a few inches. She stopped short…he was sound  
asleep on his bed, his back turned to her, wrapped up in his  
blankets. Katrina did not have the heart to wake him…Ichabod looked  
so peaceful asleep. It would be very improper to do so as well,  
especially if there was no emergency. After a few moments of gazing,  
she tiptoed back out into the hall, shutting the door and leaving it  
as it had been before she went in.

There was one other option…she would have to convince her father to  
allow her to wake Ichabod the following morning, so it would give  
her a chance to speak with him before breakfast. "I hope his city  
talk fits him better than his clothes," she told herself as she went  
back to her room.

The next morning dawned gray and cold. Katrina awoke early, hearing  
footsteps in the corridor. Quickly, she slid out of bed, and opened  
the door, to see Ichabod walking past. She stomped her bare foot in  
disappointment, but then grasped her robe, and followed  
him. "Constable?" Katrina announced, and he jumped, whirling around.

"Ah, Miss Katrina…I…I did not see you coming…" Ichabod turned  
several shades of crimson.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Fairly." He fussed with the collar of his shirt. "And yourself?"

Well, he is at least polite,' Katrina thought, smiling. "Oh yes,  
thank you…"

For a moment, the two stood staring at each other in awkward  
silence. "Is there…something you wanted?" Ichabod broke the uneasy  
tension, and Katrina stepped back a pace.

"I was hoping I would get a chance to speak to you this morning, but  
you seem in an awful hurry…"

Ichabod nodded in understanding. "Yes, well, forgive me…I am an  
early riser. Would you care to step into my room for a talk, as I  
rudely abandoned you the previous evening?"

It was now Katrina's turn to blush. "I am afraid it would not be  
proper of me to go into your quarters unescorted," She replied  
quietly.

Ichabod quickly looked down at his feet, embarrassed. "Forgive my  
manner," He apologized. "I am not…not used to it…"

Katrina smirked. "Female company?"

He shook his head. "Society."

This was odd. "How could you possibly avoid society in New York?"  
Katrina asked in awe as she leaned against the stair rail. "How I  
should love the opera—the theaters—to go dancing—is it wonderful?"  
She spun around, making the bottom of her nightgown whirling about  
her like an umbrella.

"I have never been."

Katrina stared. "But there is an art museum, isn't there? And a  
concert hall?"

"I don't know…"

This was ridiculous. Something had to be seriously wrong with a man  
who lived in a great city, and refused to do anything. She almost  
felt sorry for him…his eyes were so sad. "Then you have nothing to  
teach me," she admitted. She had been hoping he would have  
interesting stories to tell.

Ichabod gave her a small smile. "Perhaps I have. Do you believe that  
the Van Garretts and the Widow Winship were murdered by a headless  
horseman?"

Katrina shrugged, fingering the oak rail beneath her fingertips. She  
could hear her stepmother and her father downstairs in the kitchen,  
talking in quiet voices, and the sound of pots and pans. She could  
faintly smell the soft smoke from the fire in the fire place, and  
glanced over her shoulder for a moment, before turning back to  
Ichabod. "Not everyone here believes it is the horseman," she  
replied thoughtfully.

He seemed quite relieved. "Good."

"Some say it is the witch of the western woods who has made a pact  
with Lucifer."

Ichabod rolled his eyes, before pulling Katrina into a corner by his  
bedroom door. "Listen to me," He whispered, taking her arms firmly  
in his hands. "There are no witches, or galloping ghosts either. Is  
everyone in this village so in thrall to superstition?"

Katrina did not struggle in his grasp…she actually found it quite  
comforting some how. He was not gripping her hard, so she felt no  
fear. "Why are you so afraid of magic?" She whispered back. "There  
are ancient truths in these woods which have been forgotten in your  
city parks…"

Ichabod let go of her, holding his arms stiffly at his sides. "If  
they are truths," He continued, "they are not magic. And if they are  
magic, not truth."

Katrina sighed. She had to make him see…she had to make him  
understand, that not everything in the world could be seen in black  
and white. He had to open his heart and his mind to really  
live. "You are foolish," she hissed at last. "When there is fever in  
the house, it is well known that willow-herb must be boiled in the  
milk of pure white goat with special charms uttered over the fire,  
and the fever abates." She paused. "Next time you fall ill, I will  
prove it to you."

Ichabod's lips tightened. "I rarely am ill, Miss. And I suggest to  
you, try the willow-herb without the rest." He cleared his throat,  
glancing towards the stairs, where the sound of footsteps grew  
closer. "Now head off to breakfast before your father…ah…" He saw  
Baltus making his way up, and Katrina gasped, whirling around.

"Father!" She cried in alarm, clutching at her chest.

Baltus smiled pleasantly at the both of them. "Good morrow!" He  
greeted cheerfully. "I thought I heard chatter up here! You are up  
mighty early, Constable. We were planning to let you sleep after  
such a long journey here last night…"

Ichabod shook his head. "No, I thought it was best that I begin the  
investigations as soon as possible. I prefer to wake early anyway,  
though I appreciate your kindness…"

Baltus raised an eyebrow at his daughter, surprised to see her still  
dressed in nightclothes and a robe. "I see. Well, breakfast will be  
ready for you shortly, Constable. Go down to the kitchen and do help  
yourself. As for you, my dear…please…make yourself decent before…  
descending." He shook his head with a grunt as he watched Ichabod  
make his way down, and then followed him. Katrina watched the men  
disappear around a corner, and rested her head with a heartfelt sigh  
against the rail. What am I going to do with him,' she  
thought. With a head filled with such logic, Ichabod Crane will not  
get along here…not well at all…' She hurried back to her room, her  
heart racing, as she prepared the process of dressing for the day.

Breakfast was a rather quiet affair. Lady Van Tassel served to  
Ichabod fresh eggs and bacon, toast and marmalade. A pot of coffee  
sat in the center of the table, and he helped himself to it, sipping  
from the mug slowly. Katrina sat across from him, finding it very  
difficult to eat for some reason. "So what is your plan for the day,  
Constable?" Lady Van Tassel asked, once she was sitting down as  
well.

Ichabod looked at her. "Well, I will need to go to each of the  
places where the victims' bodies were found, to look for evidence."

"Places scattered all over Sleepy Hollow! You will certainly not be  
able to take on your tasks by foot!"

Ichabod cocked his head. "Then what do you propose I do? Fly?"

Katrina smiled softly. "You may borrow a horse from Mr. Killian just  
down the road…I'll take you there…"

"Nonsense, Katrina," Baltus interrupted. "It is much too dangerous  
for you…"

"But Father, I have gone to Mr. Killian's several times…"

"Do as your father tells you," Lady Van Tassel ordered firmly, but  
not loudly. Katrina leaned back in her chair, fiddling with her fork  
in irritation.

Baltus gave his daughter a warning look before turning back to  
Ichabod. "As I was saying…I will accompany you. After all, you do  
not know the way to these spots, and I have been to each of them."

Ichabod finished the last of his breakfast, and wiped his mouth with  
his cloth napkin. "Thank you. I would appreciate that very much." He  
glanced at Katrina, who was staring at the table, only playing with  
the food on her plate. She had hardly taken more than two bites  
since she'd arrived. Perhaps she is just nervous,' he thought with  
amusement, as he went to fetch his coat and large, black, leather  
handbag. It was going to be a long day, but he was ready for it. He  
followed Baltus outside, grimacing as he felt the icy autum air on  
his skin, and bundled his coat up a bit more tightly. He could see  
his breath coming out in faint, white puffs, a concept that had  
amused him as a child.

"Mama, look!" Seven-year-old Ichabod stood with his arms stretched  
out wide, blowing out faint puffs of white mist from his mouth as he  
stood in the snow.

She smiled at him, her dark eyes twinkling as she bent down to kiss  
him on the cheek. "You are blowing magic, my darling," she whispered  
into his ear. "White magic…" She ran her slender, pale fingers  
through his dark hair.

"What is magic?" Ichabod asked, confused.

His mother took his hand gently in hers, and pressed it against his  
heart, not responding…

Ichabod felt a few tears come to his eyes at the memory, and he  
blinked them away. They arrived at the home of Mr. Killian, a kind  
and gentle soul, with shoulder-length, strawberry blonde hair pulled  
back into a ponytail. He was tall and skinny, and wore a pair of  
dark brown trousers and a black waist coat, over a beige, linen  
shirt. He greeted Ichabod with a firm handshake, before leading the  
Constable to the barn where he kept his animals.

"So you wish to borrow a horse from me?" He asked, beaming.

Ichabod nodded. "Yes, that would be wonderful…"

"I have just the lad for you then…" Mr. Killian walked over to the  
last stall, which contained a dark gray pony with a light gray mane  
and tail, and a white star on its forehead. It bobbed its head up  
and down at the sight of Ichabod, and pawed at the wooden  
floor. "It's all right now…" Mr. Killian stroked the animal's nose,  
clicking his tongue at it. "You're going to be in the hands of  
Constable Crane for a while." He turned. "I trust you know how to  
ride?"

Ichabod blinked. He had ridden a few times, but he certainly was no  
expert on horses. "I know enough," He agreed.

"Good." Mr. Killian opened the door to the stall and lead the pony  
outdoors by the reins. "His name is Gunpowder."

Ichabod gave the horse a pat on the rump, jumping as a few white  
clouds came up as a result. "He shall do just fine…" The horse  
butted heads with him, and he nearly fell over sideways, steadying  
himself on the animal. Mr. Killian was just about to give Ichabod  
instructions when there was a loud gunshot and a shout:

"MURDER! THE HORSEMAN'S KILLED AGAIN!"

"Another murder!" Mr. Killian groaned before taking off on his own  
horse. Gunpowder started to trot away before Ichabod could even  
mount him. Ichabod managed to stop the animal so he could do so, and  
then the horse began moving in the wrong direction.

"No, no," He urged. "The other way…" He took off after the others at  
a canter, clutching the reins so tightly that his knuckles were  
turning white. Ichabod gripped his bag with his elbows as the horse  
raced through the woods, and he had to duck to avoid whacking his  
head on a low tree branch. Finally, he reached the murder site,  
finding everyone gathered around in a circle. Ichabod recognized  
Baltus, Brom, the doctor, the reverend, the magistrate, who all  
stared when he approached, their eyes wide. Then, Ichabod saw the  
body lying on the ground, and felt his stomach churn, wishing he had  
decided to skip breakfast. He quickly dismounted, ignoring Brom's  
snort, "A finelooking animal, Crane." His voice was dripping with  
sarcasm.

Dr. Lancaster pointed towards the body. "The forth victim," he  
explained, "Jonathan Masbath."

Ichabod sniffed. "And the head?"

"Taken…" Magistrate Philipse replied.

"Taken!" Ichabod set his bag on the ground, and walked around the  
body in a circle, inspecting it. "Interesting. Very interesting."  
With a pop, he opened the bag, and began rummaging around inside.

"What is?" Baltus asked, confused.

Ichabod glanced at him. "In headless corpse cases of this sort, the  
head is removed to prevent identifaction of the body."

Baltus raised his eyes. "But we know this is Jonathan Masbath!"

"Exactly!" Ichabod told him, raising his arms in the air. "So why  
was the head removed?"

Baltus shrugged. "Why? You tell me…"

Ichabod opened his mouth once and closed it again, before rubbing  
his temples. "I don't know…" He turned to the doctor. "You have  
moved the body," he told the doctor.

"I did…"

"You must NEVER move the body!"

"Why not?"

"Because!" He gave a shudder, as he inspected large, hoof prints  
around the body. He then stood up again, and pretended to gallop  
forward. "The stride is gigantic! The attacker rode Masbath down…"  
he pretended to be holding a pair of reins, "Turned around…came  
back…" he paused. "Came back to claim the head."

Then he got down on his knees beside his satchel. He pulled out a  
vial of white powder, and began to sprinkle it around the neck of  
the victim. Everyone stared as a bit of smoke rose from the  
spot. "Yes," Ichabod spoke again, "There is a chemical reaction…it  
shows there was just a smear of blood…no more." Brom rolled his eyes  
and folded his arms, as Ichabod pulled out a strange pair of  
spectacles with many lenses, many magnifying lenses. Then he pulled  
out another object, a scissor like thing that had tiny claws at the  
very end. Ichabod took a deep breath, and reached towards the  
corpse, carefully lifting up a piece of the neck flesh. Out of the  
neck crawled a rather large black beetle, and Ichabod grimaced,  
standing up quickly. "Interesting…very interesting…" He would have  
vomited right on the spot had he not been surrounded by so many  
people.

"What is it?" Baltus asked.

"The wound was cauterized in the very insant…as though the blade  
itself were red hot. Yet, no blistering, no scorched flesh…"

"The Devil's fire," Philipse whispered, clutching the medallion that  
hung around his neck.

Baltus clasped his hands nervously behind his back. "Right. Well,  
let us fetch the coffin cart, and we shall proceed with the funeral  
as soon as possible. I thank you, Constable…if you would gladly meet  
us in the church yard?"

Ichabod nodded, as he prepared to pack up his things. When Brom  
walked past, he elbowed Ichabod roughly in the shoulder, before  
following the others through the woods. Ichabod rubbed his aching  
arm in irritation, his eyes narrowed. Once everything was ready to  
go, he mounted Gunpowder who had faithfully remained by one of the  
trees not far away from the murder site, and took off towards the  
town. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The funeral for Jonathan Masbath was held as scheduled in  
the cemetery, just before dark. Everyone who lived in Sleepy Hollow  
were there, and some kept giving Ichabod rather disheartening looks.  
Ichabod stood off to the side alone, watching as Reverend Steenwyck  
began to read a verse from his bible. "Be sober," he spoke to the  
open grave. "Be vigilant…as sayeth in the Book of Peter, chapter  
five, verse eight…because your adversary the devil, as a roaring  
lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour…"

Ichabod noticed the boy he had seen when he first arrived in  
Sleepy Hollow standing by the grave, his hands folded in front of  
him. The lad's back was to Ichabod, so he could not see his facial  
expression, but he did not necessarily need to see it.

When Reverend Steenwyck finished the short sermon, he  
added, "God rest Jonathan Masbath," making the sign of a cross over  
the coffin, before shutting the bible. Ichabod glanced at Katrina,  
who stood beside Brom, dabbing at her eyes with a white, lace  
handkerchief. Brom glared at Ichabod, and wrapped his arm around  
Katrina, before the crowd began to depart to their homes. Well, all  
except for Young Masbath, who remained at his father's grave.  
Eventually the boy turned, and dashed over to Ichabod, grabbing his  
arm.

"Mister Constable Sir!"

Ichabod raised his head, startled. "Ah--you're young  
Masbath."

Young Masbath lowered his head again. "I was Young Masbath…  
now the only one. Masbath at your service, in honor bound to avenge  
my father."

Ichabod blinked. "Well, one-and-only Masbath, I thank you,  
but your mother will need you more than I." He went to turn away  
again, but Young Masbath was not finished. Not yet, anyway.

"My mother is in heaven, sir. She has my father now to care  
for her. But you have no one to serve you…I am your man, sir!"

Ichabod felt his heart constrict. Raising children had never  
been a thought in Ichabod's mind…he did not feel he had the right  
personality for it. "And a brave man too," He agreed, putting a  
strong hand on Young Masbath's shoulder. "But I cannot be the one to  
look after you." He backed away. "I am sorry for your loss, Young  
Mister Masbath." With a respectful nod, he started to walk back to  
the Van Tassel's home, when Magistrate Philipse caught up with him.

"Constable Crane," He whispered, taking off his powdered  
wig, and running a large hand over his shaved head. "There is  
something you should know…"

"Yes, Magistrate?"

"Jonathan Masbath was not the fourth victim, but the fifth."  
Philipse glanced over his shoulder to see Young Masbath who still  
stood by his father's grave. "Five victims…in four graves." He  
quickly hurried off, and Ichabod remained, thinking over what he had  
just been told. Five victims in four graves…' he shook his head.  
That did not make sense…he moved towards the boy.

"Young Masbath..." The lad turned. "Find yourself a place  
in the Van Tassel's servants quarters. Wake me before dawn. I hope  
you have a strong stomach." He at last hurried back to the house.  
When he got inside, he was grateful for the warmth. Ichabod walked  
upstairs to his room, and pulled his leatherbound book out of his  
desk, along with a quill. He had to keep jotting down as many  
details as possible when people told them to him. Five victims in  
four graves certainly had to be inspected. With his pen, he wrote 5  
to 4.'

As instructed, Young Masbath awoke the Constable at dawn, shaking  
Ichabod's shoulder gently. Ichabod let out a soft moan, pulling the  
blankets over his head. It was much too early…

"Constable, you asked me to wake you at dawn…" Young Masbath hissed,  
pulling the covers off. Ichabod's eyes snapped open, and he realized  
that the darkened room now glowed copper from the candle lit on his  
bedside table. Young Masbath was now sitting on the edge of his bed,  
with his arms folded.

"I did…" Ichabod rubbed his face with his hands and sat up before  
sliding to the floor. The house was still silent…any normal human  
being would still be asleep at this hour. Ichabod handed his black  
satchel to Young Masbath before putting on proper attire and  
grabbing his jacket from the hook. Mr. Killian was waiting for them  
patiently outside, holding a metal rod which he would use to break  
the locks from the coffins. The three silently made their way to the  
graveyard. The sky was very gray, and to Ichabod, it smelled like  
rain. The usual thick, smoky mist hung over the still sleeping  
village, giving it an eerie feel.

"What is it you plan to do?" Mr. Killian asked, raising an eyebrow  
once they had the coffins lying on the ground and open. The smell  
was nauseating…Young Masbath fought to keep his meal from the  
previous night down as he watched Ichabod surveying the dead bodies.

"Peter Van Garrett…Dirk Van Garrett…" Ichabod ignored Mr. Killians  
question. "Jonathan Masbath…" He watched as Mr. Killian hurried to  
fetch the fourth coffin, and popped open the lid. Inside was a  
woman's decapitated body. "The Widow Winship." Ichabod took his  
penknife out of his coat pocket, and knelt down beside the coffin,  
slicing open the bodice so he could get a good look at the Widow's  
stomach. What he found, were two strange scars right along the  
middle…it appeared as though she had been stabbed there first,  
before having her head chopped off. Another thought occurred to  
Ichabod…had the Widow Winship been pregnant at the time? He would  
have to "operate" on her to find out.

"Operate, sir?" Young Masbath asked with confusion as they heaved  
the coffin into their arms and brought it to Doctor Lancaster's. The  
walk took a good ten minutes, which was rather difficult carrying  
the heavy coffin. Gratefully, they burst through the door, startling  
the old physician, who was sitting at his desk filling out some  
paper work.

"This is most irregular, Constable!" He stood up, dropping his quill  
to the floor with a slight clink.

Ichabod took off his coat and tossed it over another chair that sat  
closer to the back wall. "I should hope so. But in this case,  
necessary. I will need to operate."

Doctor Lancaster gave Ichabod a look as though he had gone  
completely insane. "Operate? She's dead!"

Ichabod turned to Mr. Killian, who was inspecting some of the  
instruments Ichabod had laid out on the operating table. "When we  
say "operate", we mean of course er…that I will need the operating  
table. Lay her out please."

Young Masbath backed away, holding up his hands in protest. Ichabod  
put a hand on his shoulder and smiled encouragingly. "Go on, lad…  
nothing to be afraid of…"

Hesitating, Young Masbath reached his hands beneath the body,  
feeling sick as he felt how cold it was. With Mr. Killian's help,  
they managed to lift the Widow Winship out of her coffin and onto  
the table. "There is a common thread between these victims,"  
Ichabod continued, inspecting the body from a distance.

Doctor Lancaster raised an eyebrow. "What is that?"

"I don't know. Once more, the neck wound cauterized. The sword  
thrust to the stomach, the same, perhaps, by chemical means. But to  
what purpose…"

Doctor Lancaster scowled. "To what is your puprose, is the  
question." He reached over and picked up one of the instruments  
lying beside the corpse, examining it closely. "What manner of  
instruments are these?"

Ichabod immediately snatched it out of his hand. "Some of my own  
design." He pushed Young Masbath towards the door. "Step outside,  
Young Masbath. Thank you for your help, Mr. Killian. And if you  
don't mind, Doctor…my concentration suffers when I am observed…"

Once they left, Ichabod took a deep breath and squatted so he was  
eye-level with the Widow Winship's stomach. The stench of death once  
again filled the air so thick that he had to cover his nose with a  
handkerchief, to keep it out. He opened another book he'd brought  
along, with illustrations of the human body. Ichabod looked at one  
of the black and white pictures very carefully, before peeling back  
the Widow's dress, revealing the scars. He took the claw-like  
instrument and reached towards the wound, setting his handkerchief  
aside so it would not be a distraction. He'd barely gotten the wound  
open at all when a fountain of bright red blood squirted out,  
hitting him directly on his magnification spectacles that he had put  
on. He grimaced as the metallic flavored liquid dripped into his  
mouth a bit, and he spit it out immediately. Outside, the next ten  
minutes were passed in silence --- which was shattered when Ichabod,  
his clothing and skin covered with the Widow's blood burst from the  
doors.

"I am finished," he gasped, clutching his handkerchief, also stained  
red.

Reverend Steenwyck had also arrived to Doctor Lancaster's office,  
and his eyes were ablaze. "What in the name of God have you done to  
her?" he cried in disbelief. "The man is a lunatic…put him in irons,  
Magistrate Philipse, you're the law!"

Philipse ignored this request. "What did you find out, Constable?"  
He asked curiously.

Ichabod bowed his head. "That there are four victims, not five. The  
widow winship was with child when she was killed."

The others were silent, uncomfortably so.

"I see." Magistrate Philipse cleared his throat, and Doctor  
Lancaster raised his head.

Young Masbath offered his clean handkerchief to Ichabod, who shook  
his head. "Im going to go back to the house and clean up fully.  
Come, Young Masbath. I thank you again, Doctor Lancaster, for  
allowing me to barge in on you with such short notice." He hurried  
in to gather his things, before taking off outside again. They  
reached the house by late afternoon, after they had returned the  
bodies to their graves. Young Masbath followed closely behind back  
to the Van Tassel's home. When they entered, Ichabod went straight  
up to his room to wash the blood off of his face and his hands,  
while Young Masbath accepted a cup of hot tea from Sarah.

"What on Earth happened to Constable Crane, Young Master Masbath?"  
Sarah asked, as she had noticed the blood on Ichabod when he  
entered.

Young Masbath shrugged, sipping from his cup. "He had to operate on  
the Widow Winship."

Sarah stifled a giggle. "Operate on a dead woman?"

Ichabod finished cleaning up, and went back downstairs. "Where is  
Katrina?" He asked Sarah, who was still giggling as she cleaned off  
the table to serve what was now going to be a late lunch for the  
family. He gave Sarah an odd look. "What may I ask is so funny?"

She shook her head. "Nothing, Constable. Tis not my place…" she  
paused. "And Miss Katrina is in the living room."

Ichabod nodded in thanks, whispering to Young Masbath that he wanted  
to speak with Katrina alone.

"Just let me know when you need me again," Young Masbath announced,  
and he made his way up the stairs.

Ichabod went towards the parlour, where indeed, Katrina sat on one  
of the overstuffed couches. Her body was stretched out longways, and  
she held a thin book in her hands. He went over to one of the chairs  
and sat down. "Good afternoon."

Katrina jumped, nearly throwing the book in the air. "Oh! Constable…  
I did not hear you enter!" She quickly sat up, straightening her  
dress. "I missed you this morning! Where did you go?"

Ichabod smiled. "Just to take care of some business. Pardon my  
intrusion…"

Katrina shook her head. "It is no intrusion. I come here often to  
read." She quickly hid the book beneath the cushions. Ichabod tapped  
his fingers together.

"You read books which…you must hide."

Katrina sighed. "They were my mothers' books," she admitted. My  
father frowned at them then, and would frown at me now. He believes  
tales of romance caused the brain fever that killed my mother. She  
died two years ago come midwinter." She smiled. "It is always a  
comfort to me to read these on dreary days such as this one…"

Ichabod frowned. "I am sorry…"

Katrina smiled at him. "The nurse who cared for her during her  
sickness is now Lady Van Tassel." She paused. "I did not expect you  
to come and see me. I thought I made you angry yesterday…"

Ichabod chuckled. "Nonsense. I have much to learn about this  
backwood place. I just have a different background than you and your  
townsfolk. And there was something else too that I wanted to mention…  
why is it no one told me that the Van Garretts were kith and kin to  
the Van Tassels?"

Katrina scoffed. "Why, because there is not a household in Sleepy  
Hollow that is not connected by blood or marriage!"

"I see." Ichabod stood and gazed out the window. Katrina joined him,  
pointing.

"This land you are looking at is Van Garrett land, given to my  
father when I was in swaddling clothes. The Van Garretts were the  
richest family around these parts. When my father brought us to  
Sleepy Hollow, Van Garrett set him up with an acre and a broken-down  
cottage, and a dozen of Van Garrett hens. My father prospered, and  
built us a new house. I owe my happiness to him. I remember living  
poor in the cottage." She touched Ichabod's sleeve. "Should I show  
you? I am sure my father would not mind, as lunch is not for a bit  
yet…"

Ichabod nodded. "Yes, I would like that."

Katrina soon reached under her couch and pulled out a tiny blue and  
purple book, handing it to Ichabod. "Take this. It is my gift for  
you…"

Ichabod shook his head. "No…I have no use for it…"

Katrina raised her eyes. "Are you so certain of everything?"

Reluctantly, Ichabod took the book, and gazed at it. On the cover in  
gold print read: A COMPENDIUM OF SPELLS, CHARMS AND DEVICES OF THE  
SPIRIT WORLD. When he opened it, he saw a name scribbled: Elizabeth  
Van Tassel. Beneath that signature, read Katrina Van Tassel.

"It was your mothers'…"

Katrina smiled at him. "Keep it close to your heart. It is sure  
protection against harm…"

Ichabod smiled weakly back. "Are you so certain of everything?"

Their eyes met for the first time, and Katrina blushed again, before  
taking his arm and leading him towards the front door of the house.  
Even though the sky looked quite nasty, the normal sounds of sheep  
bleating and horses whinnying filled the air. It did not even occur  
to Ichabod that he had left the house without his jacket, and he  
followed Katrina to the stables, where he mounted Gunpowder, and she  
mounted another pure white steed. "Snow white," Katrina introduced  
her horse.

"Very nice." Ichabod complimented, suddenly realizing just how cold  
he was. "Damn…I've forgotten my coat…"

Katrina looked up. "Shall we go back to the house so you can fetch  
it? You might catch cold without…"

Ichabod shook his head. "No no, I'll be all right. Lead the way." He  
dug in Gunpowder's sides with his heels and followed Katrina away  
from the house. What they did not know, was that Brom Van Brunt and  
his two friends Glen and Theodore, were watching them not far away,  
mounted on their own horses, glaring.

"We will get him," Brom sneered.

"How?" Glen asked, curious. "Miss Katrina is with him…"

Brom clenched the reins. "I have an idea. Come with me."

Ichabod followed Katrina through a covered bridge and across a  
field. Just by the edge of the woods, where sure enough, a broken-  
down stone formation still remained. It was covered with ivy vines,  
bits of moss and cobwebs, showing that no one had lived there a long  
time. Ichabod soon dismounted and then helped Katrina off of her  
horse. She felt small bumps on the palms of his hands, and turned  
them over to inspect them. What she saw were odd, circular scars,  
covering the flesh. "These are strange markings…what are they?" She  
asked curiously, wondering why they were not bleeding.

Ichabod shook his head. "I have no idea, to tell you the truth. I've  
had them as long as I could remember." Katrina smiled at him, and  
went over to the old fire place. She picked up a small stick, gently  
tracing shapes in the dirt. Ichabod watched as she did so, and  
gasped…the designs she made were the exact same as the ones his  
mother used to draw when she was still alive. He'd never thought  
much about them until he saw Katrina's art, but he dared not say a  
word about it.

"This was my first drawing school," Katrina explained. "And my  
mother was my teacher." She glanced up through a small tunnel. "Oh,  
see this? Carved into the fire-back? It is the archer!" She sighed  
sadly. "I'd forgotten it. This was from a long time since we've  
lived here…" She noticed Ichabod, who was leaning against the wooden  
fence, looking upset. "Are you all right?" Katrina asked worriedly.  
Ichabod nodded, and then glanced up when he heard a soft whistling  
noise. In the tree above the cottage, perched a red cardinal. It  
fluttered it's wings and sung to the morning sky. Katrina  
grinned. "A cardinal…my favorite. I would love to have a tame one,  
but I would not have the heart to cage him…"

Ichabod smiled back at her, reaching into his trouser pocket. "Well,  
then…I have something for you." He pulled out his cardboard toy, and  
presented it to her. "A cardinal on one side…" he turned it  
over. "An empty cage. And now…" he began to spin the cardboard for  
her, and Katrina clasped her hands together with delight.

"Oh!" She cried. "You can do magic! Teach me!"

Ichabod shook his head. "It is no magic. It is what we call optics…  
separate pictures, which become one in the spinning. It is truth…but  
truth is not always appearance." He handed the cardinal toy to her,  
and Katrina threw her arms around him in a great hug.

"I love it…thank you so very much!"

Ichabod chuckled. "My pleasure. Take care of it."

She beamed. "Oh I will! I promise." She heard a bit of thunder, and  
shuddered. "Well, let us get back home before you freeze to death…  
and before it starts to rain…" She rubbed his arms and lead him back  
to Gunpowder. They took their time riding back, and glanced at each  
other when they reached the entrance to the covered bridge. Ichabod  
motioned to her.

"You first…"

Katrina turned back towards the bridge again, taking a deep breath,  
urging Snow White through it. Ichabod followed closely behind. They  
were barely halfway in, when Katrina pulled her horse to a  
stop. "Listen!" She whispered. "Do you hear that?"

Ichabod blinked. "What?"

"The frogs!"

Both of them grew quiet. Sure enough, the frogs were croaking, but  
not normal croaks. They were croaking Ichabod…Ichabod…croak  
Ichabod…

The idea made Katrina giggle so hard she nearly fell off of her  
horse. "How funny! Perhaps if you picked one of them up and kissed  
it, it would turn into a princess?"

Ichabod rolled his eyes slightly. "Nonsense, Katrina. That is a  
foolish folk tale. Ride on…"

They continued again, but stopped when they heard another set of  
hoofbeats in addition to their own. Katrina felt her heart freeze in  
place as she slowly looked over her shoulder. Ichabod nodded,  
turning slowly around so he could face the other end of the bridge.  
The other set of hoofbeats grew louder, which meant the intruder was  
approaching fast.

"Who is there?" He asked loudly, and when he found out, he regretted  
asking immediately. A black horse appeared through the mist, and its  
rider held a flaming jack-o-lantern. Katrina screamed shrilly, her  
voice echoing. The rider had no head! "Ride Katrina, go!"

Katrina stared at him. "What?! Ichabod, are you mad?!"

"Go, just go! Save yourself! Please!"

Katrina reluctantly turned Snow White, and kicked the horse in the  
sides, sending it into a full gallop. Ichabod wanted to take off  
himself, he really did, but his brain was moving and his body was  
not responding. He sat frozen on the saddle, watching as the  
headless horseman trotted closer. Had it not been so foggy that  
afternoon, he would have noticed that this was not the real headless  
horseman. The rider raised his arm, and threw the flaming pumpkin in  
Ichabod's direction, hitting Gunpowder's behind instead.

Gunpowder screamed in pain and reared, throwing Ichabod onto the  
ground on his back. The back of Ichabod's head whacked the wood, and  
he was immediately knocked out. The intruder hopped from his horse,  
walked over to Ichabod's unconscious form, lifted him, and threw him  
off of the bridge and into the icy river below with a great SPLUSH.  
Gunpowder's shrill neighing could be heard in the distance, and the  
intruder lifted his cloak to reveal not the headless horseman, but  
Brom. He was glaring at the spot where Ichabod had once lay, and  
wiped his hands together. Glen and Theodore caught up with him, each  
staring.

"You threw him into the river?" Theodore asked, startled. "Is that  
not a bit extreme? The man could die!"

Brom scowled. "It is no skin from my back. The man is useless  
anyway…"

Glen and Theodore watched after him, their mouths hanging open in  
shock.

Katrina reached the house quickly, crying out in alarm as she burst  
through the doors. Her father and stepmother were just entering the  
kitchen when they saw her. "Katrina! Where have you been?" Baltus  
cried, stunned.

"The headless horseman! The headless horseman has come!"

Baltus turned white. "What are you talking about?"

"Ichabod…the headless horseman!"

Baltus grasped his daughter's arms tightly and held her. "Calm down,  
my dear, calm down."

Lady Van Tassel stood by the wall, staring. "But it was the  
horseman, father! He was after Ichabod and…"

"Sit down now before you go into hysterics," Baltus soothed, helping  
Katrina onto the kitchen table bench. Sarah had come out from the  
living room, and her eyes were wide. "Now take a few deep breaths  
and tell me everything…"

Katrina was wringing her hands and sobbing at this point, barely  
able to take a breath. She had left Ichabod with the horseman, and  
he was probably dead by now. "The headless horseman came," she  
wailed, "followed us through the covered bridge that leads to our  
old c-cottage…Ichabod told me to run, and I did…I s-should have s-  
stayed…and I know he's dead, his b-body is p-…" she could not speak  
anymore, and buried her face in her arms.

Baltus slowly glanced at his wife, who had her hands over her mouth  
in surprise. Sarah was doing the same. "Damn it to hell…" he rubbed  
his hands over his face. "We shall set up a search party for  
Constable Crane's…body…" he grimaced.

"Oh I hope he is not dead!" Sarah cried.

"We will not make any assumptions as yet," Baltus told her  
seriously. Katrina lifted her head, her cheeks tearstained.

"L-let me come with y-you," she begged. "P-please—I know where he…"

Baltus nodded. "All right, but just this once…quickly…"

Lady Van Tassel fetched her husband's jacket, and sent them on their  
way. Baltus ran to fetch Mr. Killian and Magistrate Philipse, before  
following Katrina towards the covered bridge. Katrina spotted Brom  
riding back towards the town, and hurried towards him. "Brom! Brom,  
have you seen Ichabod's body anywhere? The headless horseman  
attacked him!"

Brom shrugged. "No I haven't…" he paused. "The horseman attacked  
him?"

Katrina nodded, her eyes starting to fill with tears again. "Come,  
Katrina…we musn't waste time! If the Constable is still alive, we  
want to find him quickly…"

Brom turned around and followed them in the direction of the river.  
They reached it in no time at all, and Katrina hopped down from her  
horse, rushing to the bank. Katrina searched the water frantically,  
but saw no sign of Ichabod at all. Mr. Killian joined her, kneeling  
down on the ground. "Damn this fog!" Baltus shouted in  
irritation. "Can't see anything through it!" He turned to  
Katrina. "You and Mr. Killian search the river…the rest of us will  
go into the woods and search there…"

Brom bit back his tongue as he followed the group into the woods.  
Katrina felt tears filling her eyes again as she heard her father  
shouting Ichabod's name, and she covered her face with her hands.  
Mr. Killian looked at her with a worried frown, and put a hand on  
her shoulder. "There now, Miss Katrina…we'll find him."

"I shouldn't have left him…he t-told me to go but I didn't want…"

Mr. Killian smiled softly. "If it was what he wanted, then you did  
the right thing…" He helped Katrina to her feet, and the two of them  
walked slowly along the river bank, in the direction of the covered  
bridge. Katrina peered beneath the bridge, blinking and waving her  
hands so she could clear a hole in the fog. Something was bobbing  
against the side, but she could not quite tell what it was.

"Mr. Killian, look!" She whispered, pointing. "See that thing over  
there?"

Mr. Killian nodded. "I do…can't quite…here…hold this…" He handed her  
his lantern, and walked down the bank towards the water. He wadded  
in, ignoring as the water numbed him right up to his waist. He  
plodded towards the center of the river, so he could get a better  
look at the object. "Damn…"

"What is it?"

"A log…" He lifted the wood into the air, and then cried out, "Damn!"

"What?" Katrina asked in horror.

Floating on his back, partially sunken, was the form of Ichabod  
Crane. "I've…" Mr. Killian gulped. "Found him…"

Katrina screeched. "Ichabod! Oh my God…" she leapt into the  
water. "Ichabod! Oh no! No…Is he…d-dead?"

Mr. Killian took Ichabod's wrist and felt for a pulse. "His heart is  
still beating. Quickly…his clothes are tangled in something…there  
are some vines growing under the water…" He pulled out his pocket  
knife and began to slice where Ichabod's shirt and the vine met.  
Once Ichabod came loose, Mr. Killian and Katrina pulled him towards  
the shore. Gasping for breath, they climbed up onto the bank.

"Go and find my father…" She ordered, icy wet droplets dripping from  
the ends of her hair. Mr. Killian nodded and rushed away. When  
Katrina turned back to Ichabod, she realized just how ghastly white  
he was. His mouth was partially open, and he had an enormous gash on  
his forehead, above his right eye. She touched his cheek, not sure  
whether to feel relieved or not. "Ichabod…please breathe…" She shook  
him firmly. "Ichabod!" Katrina closed her eyes, trying to think.  
Then she remembered what to do. Katrina slowly bent down, prepared  
to breathe air into him. Her lips were barely an inch away from his  
when he spit out a mouthful of water in her face. She gasped and  
scrambled back, watching as he continued to cough up another  
mouthful. Katrina quickly helped him over on his side, watching as  
he gagged and gasped for air.

"Ichabod…" She sobbed, pulling his icy body towards her own. "Did  
you swallow the entire river?" She watched as he slowly lifted his  
head, his eyes dull, before another coughing fit insued.

Eventually, Baltus and the rest of the search party made their way  
back to the river, relieved that Ichabod was alive. All were  
relieved at least, except for Brom, who stood by the back of the  
group, growling under his breath. He slunk away as quietly as he  
could, making his way back to his home.

"Constable…are you all right?" Baltus knelt down and put a hand on  
Ichabod's shoulder. "You're bleeding…" he noticed the cut.

Ichabod could hardly speak. He kept opening and closing his mouth  
for a moment, before his eyes rolled back into his head, and he  
passed out on Katrina's lap.

"We must get him back to the house immediately before he catches his  
death," Baltus ordered, and with the help of Magistrate Philipse and  
Mr. Killian, they lifted Ichabod and carried him away. Katrina stood  
alone after a few moments, her head bowed.

"Katrina!" Baltus called. "Come along!"

She clutched her skirts and bolted after them. 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
_  
"Ichabod…Ichabod…" A small but comfortable cottage appeared,  
nestled deep in the woods, surrounded by beautiful gardens. A young  
woman stood in the doorway, playing the "Pickety witch" game with a  
young Ichabod, who narrowly misses her grasp, giggling. The woman  
was blindfolded, thrusting her arms forward, narrowly missing  
Ichabod's head. Eventually, she seized him, planting a kiss on his  
cheek, before removing the blindfold. The young woman was Ichabod's  
mother, his long-dead mother. She gazed fondly at her son, who  
handed her a small boquet of purple wild flowers he had just picked.  
One, she put in her hair, laughing…the rest, she threw into the  
kitchen fire._

Ichabod stood watching as she beckoned to him, her expression still  
kind. He did as he was told, not afraid. Moments later, his mother  
began to breathe in the smoky fumes that the flowers gave off,  
closing her eyes, as though she were in a type of trance. She picked  
up a twig, and began to draw pictures—strange designs—in a thin  
layer of ash by the hearthstone.

Suddenly, a soft creaking was heard, and Ichabod turned his head to  
see the door opening. A black cat with a white paw…the family cat…  
entered the kitchen, followed by a grim Parson all in black, his  
father.

Later that night, Ichabod lay tucked in bed, the cat resting on his  
stomach comfortably, watching as his mother entertained him with the  
cardinal-and-cage disc toy. Ichabod's eyes were wide with  
astonishment and interest. Suddenly, a flash of lightening flickered  
in the window, and a large crack of thunder shook the house. The cat  
leapt off the bed in fright, and Ichabod into his mothers arms…

"Argh!" Ichabod shouted and sat up, breaking into a fit of harsh,  
throaty coughs. He felt someone rub his back gently, stroking the  
ends of his hair.

"Shhhh."

A cup was pressed against his lips, and tipped slightly so that a  
slightly bitter liquid poured into his mouth. When he swallowed, he  
raised his head, and found that Katrina, Young Masbath, Lady Van  
Tassel and Doctor Lancaster were gathered around him. Katrina slowly  
lowered his body back down onto the mattress. Ichabod felt very hot,  
yet cold at the same time, and every muscle ached.

"You are very ill, Constable." Doctor Lancaster explained, accepting  
a cool, damp cloth from Lady Van Tassel, which he folded and placed  
across Ichabod's forehead. "I do not suppose you remember what  
happened to you today?"

Ichabod shook his head weakly, shivering a little. When he tried to  
breath through his nose, he found it to be completely stuffed up. No  
wonder he could hardly taste the liquid that was given to him.  
Katrina glanced at her father, stood beside the bed. "Well, we shall  
not go into detail for now. You've caught a nasty chill and need to  
rest as much as possible."

Ichabod raised his eyes. "How long have I been asleep?" he croaked,  
sniffling.

"For two hours at least," Katrina replied. "Your fever is high. I  
just gave you a bit of ginger tea, which should help in time…"

Ichabod moaned. This was not the time to fall ill, nor the place, he  
was certain of that. He was about to speak again, when he felt a  
sudden tickle in his nose. Quickly, he reached beneath the covers to  
fumble in his trousers for a handkerchief, only to find that they  
had put him into night clothes instead. Young Masbath, however,  
recognized his need for one straight away, and hurried over to his  
Master's desk, pulling a fresh one out from one of the  
drawers. "Here you are sir." He handed the cloth to Ichabod, who  
gratefully took it, placing it against his face. "HEHISHHUH!  
ESSSSHUH!" The sneezes were so harsh that they made his head spin.

"God bless you," Everyone told him in unison, staring at him in  
surprise.

"Thank you." Ichabod croaked, though the sneezes were certainly not  
through with him yet. Everyone held their breaths as he held the  
handkerchief to his face again. "HEHISHHHUH! ESHHHHUH! Pardon me!"

Doctor Lancaster chuckled. "Nonsense, Constable. Sneezing is a  
perfectly natural symptom of a cold…it is nothing to be ashamed of."  
he glanced at Baltus and Lady Van Tassel, raising his eyes. "I will  
ask that the children leave the room so I can run some tests on  
Constable Crane, to see what needs to be done…"

Baltus nodded. "Of course. Katrina, Young Master Masbath…out with  
you, go on." He shooed them away, and they obeyed, though  
reluctantly. Baltus and Lady Van Tassel moved out of Doctor  
Lancsters way, standing by the door to give him plenty of room. He  
pulled a chair up beside Ichabod's bed, removing the compress and  
pulling down the blankets. The cut on Ichabod's forehead had been  
cared for, washed and bandaged, but a bit of blood still seeped  
through the gauze.

"There now." Doctor Lancaster pulled out an old stethoscope and a  
thermometer, setting them on the bedside table, so he could reach  
them easily.

"What exactly happened to me?" Ichabod asked.

Doctor Lancaster held up his hand. "Just relax."

Ichabod felt the familiar tickle inside of his nose again, and  
clasped his handkerchief over his mouth just in time. "HEHISHHHHUH!  
ESHHHHHUH! My goodness, I'm sorry," he apologized, blowing loudly.

"No worries." He picked up the thermometer once Ichabod had composed  
himself, and stuck it in his mouth. "Hold this under your tongue  
until I tell you otherwise." Ichabod did just that, watching as  
Doctor Lancaster popped open his pocket watch. Ichabod had not felt  
this terrible in years…all he wanted to do at the moment was sleep.  
At last, Doctor Lancaster took the thermometer away, glancing at it  
carefully.

"Is it very bad?" Lady Van Tassel asked.

"Well...thirty nine degrees," he murmered.

Ichabod began to cough again, covering his mouth with his hand.  
Each cough seemed to slice through his chest like a knife. He  
grimaced a little as Doctor Lancaster unbuttoned the top part of his  
nightshirt so he could listen to his breathing with the stethoscope.  
The cold metal against Ichabod's burning skin made him gasp, but the  
gasp of air only brought on another coughing fit. Doctor Lancaster  
shook his head gravely, removing the device and glancing over his  
shoulder at Baltus and Lady Van Tassel. "May I speak with you out in  
the hallway please?" he asked, standing. Ichabod watched them leave,  
swallowing past his raw throat as he rested his head back onto the  
pillow.

Doctor Lancaster shut the door quietly after him, once they were out  
in the corridor. Katrina and Young Masbath were waiting for them,  
sitting on the top step, and each stood. "It is worse than I  
thought," Doctor Lancaster whispered. Katrina covered her mouth with  
her hands. "He has a terrible cold, and will need to remain in bed  
for at least three full days. If I see some improvement following  
that, he will be able to continue his work here…if not…" he  
paused. "My biggest fear is that this could turn into pneumonia if  
he is not watched over very carefully."

Baltus nodded in understanding. "What can we do? He is going to be  
in dreadful discomfort."

Doctor Lancaster lowered his head when he heard more harsh coughing  
from Ichabod's room. "The usual, Baltus. Plenty of liquids, good  
rest, clear broths. I would continue giving him the ginger tea as  
well."and I will create a phial of spearmint syrup which will also  
help."

Katrina and Young Masbath were giving each other worried  
expressions. "Knowing Constable Crane, he will insist that he is  
strong enough to get out of bed tomorrow. Do not let him. And even  
when the fever breaks, he will need to recover slowly. Move him to  
the parlour couch, take him for slow walks around the downstairs,  
that sort of thing." the doctor continued with his diagnosis.

Lady Van Tassel nodded. "I will go and create another cup of ginger  
tea straight away." She turned and walked downstairs to the kitchen.  
Katrina remembered her discussion with Ichabod about the willow-herb  
remedy, and decided that the next morning she would kill a crow to  
use for it. When the Doctor turned back to Baltus, he raised his  
eyes.

"Someone will need to be with him all of the time, to keep a close  
eye on his breathing and his temperature. Certainly you will need to  
sponge him down in cool water every few hours, and try not to put  
anymore blankets on him than he already has. You do not want to  
overheat him."

Katrina turned to her father. "Please father, might I take first  
watch?" She asked hopefully. Baltus hesitated.

"Well, I suppose, he is fond of you." Baltus glanced at the doctor.

"Just fetch me if he takes any worse and is not responding to the  
remedies. Another thing I would suggest is an herbal steam bath to  
relax him. Use the lavender flower to do this. It is a wonderful  
soothing herb that I have used on several patients."

"HEHISHHHHUH! ESHHHHHUH!"

Everyone turned towards the door, sighing quietly. "Thank you,  
Doctor Lancaster." Baltus shook his friend's hand. "Shall I lead you  
to the door?"

"Yes, thank you…once I fetch my things at least." He went back into  
Ichabod's room, where the young Constable was blowing his nose  
again.

"Excuse me," Ichabod apologized, once he'd finished, noticing the  
doctor, who was packing up his materials.

"Of course."

"How ill am I?" Ichabod asked curiously.

Doctor Lancaster looked at him. "You will be laid up in bed for a  
few days, and if you make progress, we'll go from there."

Ichabod blinked. "I am sure I'll be all right after a good rest,"

Doctor Lancaster gave him a warning look. "We will determine whether  
or not you will be all right, Constable." He gave a respectful  
nod. "Good evening." He left the room, joining the others still in  
the hall. "Good luck," He added, before following Baltus downstairs  
to the front door. Katrina turned to Young Masbath, her eyes  
sorrowful.

"He'll be all right, won't he?" Young Masbath whispered, following  
Katrina towards Ichabod's door. She lowered her head.

"I hope so…you do know what happened, don't you?"

Young Masbath shook his head. "No, I don't."

"The headless horseman attacked him and I suppose he threw Ichabod  
into the river," she explained in a quiet voice.

Young Masbath's eyes widened. "What?"

"That's all I know. I rode away before I could see anything happen.  
He told me to go."

Young Masbath nodded in understanding. "Oh. Well, do you want me to  
relieve you after a few hours?" Katrina frowned. "You aren't going  
to stay with him all night, are you?" the boy added, raising an  
eyebrow curiously.

"I'll ask my father and see what he thinks. Well, go away then. I'll  
call for you if I need anything."

Young Masbath gave a small bow before heading downstairs, and  
Katrina went into Ichabod's room. He was still awake, fiddling with  
the edge of his blankets. His eyes were bright and feverish, and  
Katrina noticed a thin layer of sweat covered his cheeks. He coughed  
as she made her way towards him, pulling the chair so that she could  
be near his head. "I'm going to watch over you for a little while."  
She reached into the pocket of her gown, and retrieved the cardinal-  
in-a-cage toy that Ichabod had given to her earlier, and held it up.

"Katrina…" Ichabod gasped, once he settled back onto his  
pillows. "I'm so cold."

She reached over and stroked his sweaty hair tenderly with her  
fingers. "I know. Here," she pulled the blankets up close to his  
neck, and kissed his burning forehead. She leaned back in her chair,  
holding up the toy just as he had shown her. Then she gently began  
to spin it,, watching the cardinal flip in and out of its cage.  
Ichabod watched the movement with his eyes, and Katrina reminded him  
strongly of his mother for a moment. The smile, the sparkle never  
gone from her eyes.

Lady Van Tassel brought another cup of tea upstairs, handing it to  
Katrina. "Make sure he takes this down," she whispered. "And your  
father has instructed me to tell you that he does not want you with  
Constable Crane for more than a couple of hours." When Katrina  
started to protest, her stepmother gave her a look.

"He does not want you catching my cold," Ichabod finished, touching  
Katrina's arm. She smiled at him, but frowned once his face wrinkled  
up, and he reached for his handkerchief. "HEHISHHHUH! ESHHHHHUH!  
Excuse me!"

Katrina smiled softly. "You are excused."

Lady Van Tassel raised an eyebrow. "Well then, I will send Young  
Masbath to fetch you when your time is up." She gave a slight nod  
before leaving.

Katrina looked at Ichabod, who had snuggled back down against his  
pillows, turning over on his side. "Are you going to fall asleep?"  
she whispered.

"If you don't mind," Ichabod replied.

"Of course not. You need to rest."

Ichabod smiled at her faintly, before closing his eyes, sinking back  
into a more comfortable sleep…or so he hoped. 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Baltus paced back and forth in the parlour once Doctor  
Lancaster left, his hands clasped behind his back. As they had  
thought, it began to rain very heavily, and the usual mist that hung  
over the town seemed even thicker that night. The weather, he  
thought, seemed to mirror Ichabod's current state of health.

Lady Van Tassel sat on the overstuffed couch, watching the flames  
dance wildly about in the fireplace. In her hands, she held a half-  
finished needle point, a spool of thread resting beside her.

A crack of thunder boomed overhead, causing both of them to  
jump. Lady Van Tassel stared at her husband, one hand covering her  
heart. "Goodness gracious," she gasped. Baltus gave a nervous  
shudder. "It certainly is a puzzlement..." the old man spoke,  
glancing out the window at the rain.

"What is?" Lady Van Tassel asked, voice was soft, calm.

"That Constable Crane still has his head!"

She raised an eyebrow. No one had even given that idea a  
thought, as they had been so preoccupied with getting Ichabod  
cleaned up and into bed. "Perhaps it was not the horseman, dearest,"  
she suggested.

Baltus turned to her. "Mary, Katrina saw the horseman with  
her own eyes! Are you suggesting that my daughter is crazy?"

Lady Van Tassel sighed. "Of course not, Baltus, but you know  
that several headless horseman tricks have been played around these  
parts." She scooched over a bit. "Come, sit down beside me…"

Baltus did not move from his spot. Who would be so cruel to  
play such a horrendous prank on Ichabod? As far as he was concerned,  
Constable Crane was as harmless as could be, despite the fact that  
his logic often got in the way. They could hear another bout of  
harsh coughing from upstairs, and both adults shook their heads  
sorrowfully. Baltus finally gave in and sat down next to his wife,  
looking at her fondly as she touched his arm gently with her slender  
fingertips.

Ichabod, meanwhile, could not sleep…no matter how hard he  
tried. He tossed and turned, boiling hot one moment and freezing  
cold the next. At last, he gave up, struggling to sit up against the  
headboard. "Katrina, could you hand me my…" he paused, his nostrils  
flaring slightly at the presence of a pending sneeze. Katrina  
fetched a fresh handkerchief from the bedside table, handing it to  
him. "HEHISHHHUH! ESHHHHHUH!" He kept the handkerchief firmly in  
place, before giving his nose another strong blow.

"God bless," Katrina sighed. "What was it that you wanted?"

Ichabod sniffled, pointing to the leatherbound book on the  
nightstand, his handkerchief still clenched in his fist. "That." He  
cleared his throat. "My goodness, excuse me!" He turned away,  
raising his handkerchief again. "HEHISHHHHUH! ESHHHHHUH!"

"God bless again," Katrina chuckled, rubbing his back gently  
in a circular motion. His nose was starting to feel sore to the  
touch, and no matter how many times he blew it, it remained just as  
stuffy as before. Katrina handed the book to Ichabod, once he  
managed to compose himself, and then leaned back in her chair. "Is  
there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"

He opened his book to his most recent sketches, peering at  
them closely, trying to ignore his aching head and eyes. "Well…" he  
frowned. "If you could…possibly help me detangle from these  
blankets?" Ichabod moved his feet about so she could see where they  
were. Katrina nodded, standing, and went to the edge of the bed.  
Gently, she pulled the blankets up just enough so that Ichabod had  
enough room to straighten out his legs. Once he did so, she  
carefully tucked them in again, making sure he would be warm  
enough. "Thank you," he told her with a weak smile once she  
finished.

"You're welcome. Let me feel your forehead to see if your  
fever has gone down at all…" She rested a hand against his forehead,  
and he felt his heart flutter a little at the touch. Katrina  
reminded Ichabod so much of his mother…she used to do the exact same  
thing when he had been ill as a child. "You are still fairly warm.  
Do you need another blanket?"

Ichabod shook his head. "I'm all right, thank you." He  
coughed, gasping for air as they caused his chest to rattle with  
pain. "I think I'll just sit here and try to read a m…a m…" He  
fetched his handkerchief quickly. "HEHISHHHUH! ESHHHHH! I am so  
sorry!" he apologized, a deep blush creeping into his cheeks again.

"Bless," Katrina told him thoughtfully. "And I am not  
bothered by your sneezing…I know you are ill." She smiled  
shyly. "Would you mind very much if I took a little rest?" she asked.

Ichabod gave his nose another strong blow, and shook his  
head. "Not at all...though you do not have to stay with me." he  
coughed hard into his fist. Katrina raised her eyes with a concerned  
expression on her face.

"Which would you prefer?" her voice was gentle.

"I would like it very much if you stayed, but I do not want  
to keep you from your work."

Katrina blushed. "Do not be silly." she touched his  
hand. "Very well then, if it suits you, I will stay." She leaned her  
head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. Ichabod  
watched her fondly, sniffling again and wiping his nose, before  
glancing down at the book. The sketches and words seemed to blur  
together, causing him to squint. With a soft moan, he massaged his  
temples, squeezing his eyes shut. This procedure, however, did not  
work very well, and only caused a wave of dizziness to wash over his  
senses. Quickly, he dropped the book and fell back against he  
pillow, panting. Katrina opened her eyes, startled by the noise, and  
immediately leaned on the mattress so she could get a closer  
look. "What is wrong?"

Ichabod shook his head, blinking a few times. "Nothing. I'm  
all right." He closed the book, and gave a small shudder, snuggling  
down beneath the blankets again. Katrina watched as he did so,  
shaking her head softly. She decided that once Young Masbath came to  
take her place, she would go down to the kitchen and make a batch of  
her healing potion. Katrina hoped that the brew would alleviate some  
of Ichabod's symptoms, including bringing down the fever.

Another crack of thunder made the house tremble, and the  
room was illuminated with a flash of lightening. Ichabod groaned at  
the sudden noise, and pulled his blankets over his pounding head,  
cursing silently. He eventually poked his head out again, growing  
too warm, and saw that Katrina had drifted into a light doze in her  
chair. The cardinal toy remained on her lap, it's strings in her  
hands. Ichabod coughed quietly, before bundling the sheets around  
his freezing feet.

Young Masbath, meanwhile, sat at the bottom of the stairs, leaning  
his elbows on his knees. It had been nearly an hour and a half since  
he had left Katrina alone in the room with the Constable. Sarah, the  
servant, came into the kitchen carrying a covered basket, and she  
stopped at the sight of the young boy gazing awkwardly into  
space. "Why Young Master Masbath, have you not moved from this spot  
since you came down?" She asked quietly, setting the basket on the  
long wooden table, cluttered with cups, dishes, bowls and utensils.  
Her lovely brown eyes were filled with concern as she knelt down in  
front of the child.

Young Masbath glanced up at Sarah, startled, before nodding. "Have  
you had supper?"

Young Masbath nodded again. "I did, Ma'am…I had a bowl of soup,  
bread and tea…"

Sarah smiled. "You are worried about Constable Crane, I suppose?"  
She gently urged Young Masbath to make room for her on the step, so  
she could sit down. Once she did so, Sarah smoothed the front of her  
gown and apron.Young Masbath sighed, leaning his chin in his palms.  
So much had happened to him over the past couple of days. He was  
still grieving over the death of his father, and now his new Master  
had fallen ill. Sarah took Young Masbath's silence as a "yes", and  
she placed a rough hand on his shoulder. "He'll be all right."

"You didn't hear what the doctor said," Young Masbath grumbled.

"What did he say?" Sarah asked kindly.

"That he has a bad cold, and that it could possibly turn into the  
winter fever if we don't treat it quickly." Despite how upset the  
boy was, he didn't cry, even though his dark eyes were filling with  
hot tears. Sarah pulled Young Masbath into a gentle hug, being  
mindful of her manners as a lady.

"Shuuush…there now. Everything will be all right. I am sure that  
after a few good nights rest, Constable Crane will be back on his  
feet again. It does not do any good to sit here and worry. But if  
you insist on doing so, at least do it in a more comfortable  
atmosphere."

"Where?" Young Masbath asked. He did want to go into any of the  
rooms unescorted or without permission from Master Van Tassel.  
However, when he first came to the Van Tassel manor, Baltus had said  
to him, "Make yourself at home, my boy. Do not hesitate to ask if  
you need something."

"Well, the parlor or the library are good places to sit and think.  
And I won't bother you, I promise." She grinned playfully, and he  
smiled back.

"You aren't bothering me." He stood up, brushing the dust from his  
breeches. "But I guess I should get out of the way in case someone  
wants to go upstairs. I have to relieve Katrina in a few hours  
though," he added, scratching his head absentmindedly. Even though  
he hardly knew Sarah, he felt very comfortable around her. It was  
almost like having an older sister.

"I'll come fetch you when the time comes, Young Master Masbath.  
Would you care for anything before I go back to my duties?"

Young Masbath shook his head. Sarah smiled at him before turning  
back to her abandoned basket. The boy slipped out of the kitchen and  
into the Van Tassel library, which was thankfully empty. The rain  
still fell heavily outside, though the thunder and lightening had  
died down for the time being. Young Masbath sat down in one of the  
overstuffed chairs by one of the enormous bookshelves, gazing at the  
clock that hung on the wall.

Brom Van Brunt stood at the end of the path that would lead him to  
the Van Tassel's manor. In his hands, he clutched the reins of his  
young mare, who nickered and nuzzled his neck affectionately with  
her nose. The broadshouldered man had been standing in the same spot  
for quite some time, ignoring the fact that his clothes were now  
drenched. He glanced over his shoulder, grumbling something  
inaudible under his breath, as he stroked the animal's neck, before  
remounting.

The fact that his plan had failed, made Brom detest the Constable  
even more so than before. With Ichabod Crane still alive, winning  
Katrina's heart would be a difficult task…one he was willing to risk  
whatever it took to accomplish it. He had barely moved forward a  
foot when he heard someone shout his name. "Whoa," Brom ordered,  
pulling back the reins gently, so that his horse came to a stop,  
before glancing over his shoulder. Theodore was running towards him,  
covered with splatters of mud from the roads.

"Saw you riding past our house…are you crazy or something?"

He scowled. "If anyone is crazy, Theodore, it is Constable Crane."

Theodore sniggered. "You've got a point there."

"I am going to have Katrina's hand, Theodore, if it's the last thing  
I do," Brom snarled.

"I suppose you're going to see her then?"

Brom gave a nod. "Her, and Constable Crane…perhaps he's close enough  
to death that I won't have to worry so much. How I'd love to punch  
him right in the nose…" He gave an evil chuckle. "Coming along?"

"I think I'd rather you take care of this one on your own," Theodore  
admitted, rubbing his arms as a gust of icy wind blew past  
him. "Good luck." He saluted the farmer, who gave a nod before  
trotting the rest of the way up the path.

Brom brought his horse to Mr. Killian's stables, paying the man a  
coin to keep the animal for as long as necessary. Then Brom walked  
up to the Van Tassel's front door, rapping loudly. Sarah pulled it  
open, staring at the newcomer. "Master Van Brunt, we were not  
expecting you," she said quietly, stepping aside to let him in.

"I'm sorry, I came to call on Miss Katrina."

Sarah frowned. "I shall go and fetch her for you, sir." She curtsied  
before making her way upstairs to Ichabod's room. Katrina was not  
the least bit pleased when she heard who had come, but she agreed to  
come down only if Young Masbath took her place for the time being.  
Brom clasped his hands behind his back, smiling as the young woman  
descended the staircase, holding her skirts to keep from tripping.

"Brom, what are you doing here at this hour?" Katrina asked, her  
voice cool.

"I've only come to see you, Katrina."

Katrina gave him a suspicious look, chewing on her lower lip  
nervously. "Why?" She finally blurted out.

"HEHISHHHHUH! HESHHUUUUH!" The pair jumped slightly at the sound of  
Ichabod's harsh sneezing, before turning to face each other again.

"I wish to ask the same of you," Brom replied at last.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why?" Brom wanted to know. "Why do you not wish to marry me?"

Katrina rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. "We have  
discussed this topic numerous times, and it is my personal business.  
I do not have to tell you anything."

"At least give me a chance to show you what I can offer," Brom  
begged.

"For the last time, Brom Van Brunt…I am going to make this perfectly  
clear," Katrina snapped, shaking a finger at his nose. "I refuse to  
marry someone who does not love me for who I am as a person, not  
solely for my appearance."

"You wanted me, Ma'am?"

Katrina turned her head to see Young Masbath standing a few inches  
away. "I'm sorry," she apologized, nodding. "Yes, I would like you  
to go and look after Constable Crane for a few moments."

Young Masbath bowed. "Yes Ma'am. Good evening, Mister Van Brunt."  
the lad greeted politely, before heading upstairs, his footsteps  
creaking on the wood. When the boy was out of ear shot, Katrina  
sighed.

"Brom," She continued, but Brom held up his hand, his expression  
remarkably calm for one who had just been rejected more than once.

"I completely understand how you feel, Miss Katrina, and I am all  
for the idea that marriage is solely for love."

Katrina blinked. "You do?" She asked, confused.

"Of course. And I do beg your pardon, my Lady…I shan't bother you  
again." He bowed.

Katrina stared. "That is all you wanted?" She wanted to know,  
chewing on her lower lip.

Brom shook his head. "That, and, is your father available?"

"He is in the parlor. I'll go and fetch him." She walked away,  
leaving Brom alone in the front hall. Brom made a note in his mind  
of what he would say to Baltus Van Tassel that would gain him access  
to Ichabod's chambers. Baltus soon approached Brom, grinning with  
delight at the guest.

"Ah, Mr. Van Brunt, what a pleasant surprise!" his elder extended a  
hand, and Brom shook it firmly. "Is there anything I can do for you,  
young sir?"

"I wanted to let you know, sir, that if you or Doctor Lancaster  
needed any assistance while caring for the Constable, that I have a  
bit of experience with herbal remedies. And I would be happy to  
help in any way I can." He lied through his teeth.

"That is most kind of you." Baltus replied, placing a gentle hand on  
Katrina's shoulder. "We shall certainly call on you if we need an  
extra hand."

Brom bowed then, before bidding the Van Tassels goodbye. He kissed  
Katrina's hand softly, and she fought hard to show her  
disgust. "Good evening," Katrina said coolly as she watched Brom  
leave the house, back out into the storm.

"Any improvement, my dear?" Baltus asked quietly once they were  
alone, and Katrina shook her head.

"The fever is still high, and his cough seems to be getting worse.  
And do not worry, Young Masbath took my place for me while Brom was  
here, so Ich…so the Constable is not alone…" she told him, blushing.  
She did not feel quite comfortable using Ichabod's first name in  
front of her father as yet. Baltus beamed with pride at his daughter.

"That's my girl."

"Perhaps we should send for Doctor Lancaster in the morning if the  
fever does not break," Katrina suggested.

"Of course. Well, my dear, your stepmother and I are going to make  
our way to bed."

Katrina nodded. "All right, Father."

"Good night." Baltus gave Katrina a small half smile, before making  
his way up the stairs to his quarters. When he was gone, Katrina  
sighed, her shoulders slumping as she followed him towards Ichabod's  
room. When she entered, she found Young Masbath sitting in her  
chair, watching his Master intently. Ichabod had at last fallen  
asleep, with the blankets only covering his body halfway. Young  
Masbath heard the door creak open and glanced over his shoulder,  
watching Katrina come towards him.

"Has he been asleep this entire time?" She asked quietly.

"Yes Ma'am."

"Oh come now, Young Masbath, I'll have none of this "Ma'am"  
nonsense." She chuckled. "I know you are saying it to be polite, but  
I would ask you kindly to call me Katrina."

Young Masbath blushed. "Yes Ma'am…Katrina." He stood quickly, and  
gave a small bow.

"Don't forget to come back around eleven," She added, smiling.  
Ichabod shifted in his sleep a little, but did not open his eyes.

"I won't." Young Masbath promised, before turning on his heel and  
leaving. When he was gone, Katrina touched Ichabod's hand, gently  
rubbing it.

"We are going to help you get well, sweetheart." She whispered. "I  
promise." 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

_Out of the thick, gray mist, Ichabod spotted his mother  
standing in the center of a dense forest, her eyes closed. Large,  
white flakes began to fall all around her, and she opened her eyes  
when one hit her on the nose. "Ichabod," She called in a gentle  
voice, reaching out for him. When young Ichabod looked down, he  
realized he had forgotten to bring his jacket with him, and his  
white linen shirt was slowly starting to become soaked. "Ichabod…"  
She now stood a few feet before him, a playful but scolding look  
upon her fair face._

He shivered, reaching for her hand, allowing her to lead him  
towards their small cottage in the clearing. She opened the door to  
the house, shuffling him inside. She added more wood to the fire in  
the fireplace, and told him to go and stand before it. Ichabod  
rubbed his small arms, shivering even moreso than he had been  
outside. She left the kitchen and came back with a thick blanket,  
draping it over his shoulders. No words were exchanged between  
either of them as she lifted him into her arms, carrying Ichabod to  
his room. The black cat with the white paw lay curled up on  
Ichabod's desk chair, it's tail swishing back and forth, watching  
with large, yellow eyes.

She turned her back while he changed into night clothes,  
sneezing and sniffling a bit as he crawled into bed. "Mama?" He  
croaked, watching as she pulled up a wooden chair, sitting down upon  
it, and touched a finger to her lips.

Later

Ichabod lay very still in bed, as the village doctor listened to his  
heart and his breathing. His mother stood in the corner, clutching  
the cardinal disc toy tightly in her hands. The door creaked, and  
those who were able looked up to see the form of Ichabod's father,  
dressed in a long, black cloak, his thick white hair pulled back  
into a ponytail. Mr. Crane touched Mrs. Crane's arm, and lead her  
out into the hallway…

  
"HEHISHHHUH! ESHHHHHUH! HEHISHHHH!" Ichabod was pulled out of his  
dream by yet another bout of relentless sneezing. He was too weak to  
reach for a handkerchief, so he used his hand to cover his mouth and  
nose instead. "HEHISHHHHHH! ESHHHHUH!" He gasped for breath when the  
fit ended, and cleared his throat.

"God bless you, sir."

Ichabod jumped a little at the new voice, and turned his head. Young  
Masbath was now sitting beside him instead of Katrina, and he held a  
handkerchief out to his Master. "Where is Katrina?" Ichabod asked,  
accepting the piece of cloth, blowing his nose. When he glanced out  
the window he realized that dawn had broken, and that the heavy  
rains from the previous night had finally ceased.

"She is sleeping, sir. Do you feel any better?" Young Masbath's eyes  
were filled with concern.

Ichabod coughed harshly, clutching at his chest, clearly in great  
pain, and shook his head. The door opened,and Lady Van Tassel  
appeared, carrying a tray. "Good morning, Constable Crane," she  
greeted, setting the tray after clearing the nightstand of its  
clutter. Ichabod lay back down against his pillow, wondering what  
the tray contained. Breakfast most likely,' he thought to himself.

"Good morning." He replied, his voice very strained. She shushed  
him, reaching over to feel his forehead. She clucked her tongue at  
the warmth she felt..."No change in your temperature, I am afraid.  
And please, do not try to talk." Lady Van Tassel lifted one of the  
blue and white chipped teacups that Ichabod recognized from the  
library. "Katrina made this for you," she added, presenting the cup.

"Katrina? I thought she was asleep…" Ichabod whispered, struggling  
to sit up again, with Young Masbath's help.

"She made this for you after your servant relieved her last night,  
but I only reheated it over the fire this morning." Lady Van Tassel  
explained.

"Shall I help you, sir?" Young Masbath asked, noticing that  
Ichabod's hands were shaking. Ichabod nodded and handed the cup to  
the boy, feeling very embarrassed. Young Masbath carefully placed  
the edge of the teacup against Ichabod's lips, tipping it slightly  
so that the liquid could pour into his mouth. As soon as Ichabod  
tasted it, he nearly spit it right out again. He somehow forced it  
down, covering his mouth with his hand. The concoction had a very  
bitter taste to it. "Goodness, what is it?" He asked, pulling away  
when Lady Van Tassel attempted to blot his neck with a fresh, damp  
cloth.

"Her secret," Lady Van Tassel replied with a small smile. "Drink it  
all down, now. It is supposed to help you sleep."

Reluctantly, Ichabod took down the rest of the medicine, feeling  
fairly nauseous afterwards. He took a small breath and lay back  
against his pillows, signaling that he was finished. Young Masbath  
gave a nod in understanding and put the mug back on the table. "What  
ails you this morning, Constable?" Lady Van Tassel asked. "Anything  
different from yesterday?" She took a steaming bowl of chicken broth  
into her hands, stirring the bland soup with a spoon.

"My head aches," he replied, blowing his nose into his handkerchief  
again. "And my throat."

Lady Van Tassel took a spoonful of the broth, and guided it towards  
him. "You must try to take plenty of liquids, Constable. I know you  
do not feel well."

Ichabod opened his mouth, allowing her to give a bit of it to him.  
The broth tasted much better than Katrina's mixture, and soothed his  
raw throat as it slid down. He remembered that chicken soup was one  
of the main things his mother used to give to him for colds and  
other illnesses. But after the first few spoonfuls, he could not  
stomach anymore, though he wanted to. "Well, you at least tried."  
She placed everything back on the tray, and asked Young Masbath to  
take it down to the kitchen. He obeyed, shutting the door quietly  
behind him.

"I do not look to be served by the Lady of the house," Ichabod  
admitted, sniffling. "You do not have to stay with me, Ma'am. I'll  
be all…all…" he paused, when the sudden tickle returned to his  
nose. "Excuse me…" he turned his head. "HEHISHHHUH ESHHHHHUH! I  
cannot seem to stop sneezing this morning!"

"Katrina mentioned that you'd been sneezing often last night as  
well."

The man looked up, looking almost shy. "Yes, I tend to sneeze quite  
a bit when I have a cold," he answered, lifting his handkerchief to  
hide his blush.

"As do most people." Lady Van Tassel pulled the covers up to his  
neck, and tucked them around his sides. "And it is doctor's orders  
that someone must remain with you at all times."

"I am a grown man," Ichabod grumbled. "I do not need a caretaker…I  
have lived alone all of my life."

"Shhhhh." Lady Van Tassel comforted him, folding another cool  
compress over his forehead. "Just rest."

Ichabod turned over on his side, grimacing as the world spun before  
him. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, pulling his arms out from  
beneath the blankets. With a soft groan, he began massaging his  
forehead. A cardinal landed on the windowsill suddenly, startling  
him. It ruffled its brilliant red feathers and chirped through the  
glass, blinking it's beady black eyes. The bird cocked it's head to  
one side, staring at the patient in bed. Lady Van Tassel noticed  
this, and raised an eyebrow. "You have a fascination with birds,  
Constable?" She asked, causing him to turn around again.

"Yes, I do. Cardinals are my favorite, particularly." He sighed  
sadly. "I had one of my own while living in New York, but set it  
free before I came here."

Lady Van Tassel nodded in understanding. "I see."

Ichabod coughed again, pulling the blankets over his shoulders,  
trying his best to keep warm. "Would you care for another blanket?"  
Lady Van Tassel asked, and Ichabod nodded, though he would have  
preferred two or three more blankets. His feet once again were like  
blocks of ice.

"Yes please." He whispered.

Lady Van Tassel stood and went over to the dresser, pulling out  
another thick quilt. She wrapped him in it. "Shall I get a heated  
brick for your feet?" She added, noticing that he kept trying to  
wrap his feet among the quilts several times.

"Y-y-yes," he shivered, sniffling.

"All right. I'll be back in a few minutes…just stay right here in  
bed," she ordered, standing, then left the room. Ichabod watched the  
door close softly behind her, before he turned back towards the  
window. Unfortunately, the cardinal had disappeared. It had been of  
some comfort while it was there. He gazed up at the ceiling, and  
thought about his past two days in Sleepy Hollow. He found himself  
wondering if it had been a big mistake to agree to come here. He  
was a man of science, and all of this supernatural nonsense was  
starting to get on his nerves.

Ichabod's memories of his childhood  
seemed to take their toll on him now more than they ever did in New  
York. At least in New York, he was preoccupied with his laboratory  
and inventions, and the usual logical explanations for crimes.  
Ichabod hoped that the Sleepy Hollow investigation would not take  
long, though due to his present state of health he had a feeling  
he'd be here for a while. And I might as well try to make the best  
of it,' he thought miserably, giving his nose yet another strong  
blow.

"Ichabod?"

Ichabod sat up quickly when the door re-opened, but it was not Lady  
Van Tassel this time. "Oh Katrina," he whispered, sighing with  
relief. She wore a light blue gown with white lace trim, her golden  
hair pulled back into a single braid down her back. On her wrists  
she wore a pearl bracelet with a large, silver star attached. "You  
should be resting." He added, watching as she came over to him.

"I could not sleep." She sat down in the chair, and felt his  
forehead. "You're still very warm. Who has been here with you?"

"Your stepmother." Ichabod croaked. "She's gone to get a heated  
brick for my feet…" he gave a shudder, watching as Katrina smoothed  
his blankets and stroked his sweat-soaked hair.

"I see."

Ichabod lifted his head so he could get a better look at her, just  
as Lady Van Tassel entered, carrying the large brick covered in a  
steaming cloth in her hands. "Katrina, dear, what are you doing out  
of bed?" She asked, startling the young maiden. Katrina stood up  
quickly, folding her hands in front of her, blushing.

"I am still wakeful," She insisted.

"Constable Crane is in good hands," Lady Van Tassel promised,  
carrying the brick over to the bed, and she pulled up Ichabod's  
blankets. The young man's shivers intensified due to exposure of the  
cool air in the room, but he felt an almost immediate sense of  
relief once the brick was placed against his heels. Lady Van Tassel  
immediately recovered Ichabod and stepped back.

"We may have to send for Doctor Lancaster," she told her  
stepdaughter quietly. "His temperature has gone up. And I think we  
ought to give him a steam bath a little later this afternoon.

"Yes, that would be a good idea," Katrina agreed. "For his cough?"

"That, and the fact that he has a headache."

Ichabod scowled…he hated being talked about as though he were a  
piece of furniture. Baltus stepped through the doorway, announcing  
to his wife and daughter that breakfast was ready and on the table.  
Katrina frowned, not wanting to leave Ichabod again, but her father  
encouraged her to come down and take a few bites of porridge. "You  
must keep up your own strength, my dear." He reminded her with a  
soft smile.

"HEHISHHHUH! ESHHHHHUH!" Ichabod sneezed violently into the folds of  
his blankets, a handkerchief not present at the moment.

"God bless you." Katrina told him kindly.

"Are you coming then?" Baltus asked his daughter, his voice stern.

"Yes, Father." Katrina walked out, and Lady Van Tassel glanced at  
her husband.

"Baltus, send Young Masbath to fetch Doctor Lancaster. The Constable  
seems to be taking worse this morning."

"I will. And he will be all right while we eat, I am sure." Baltus  
looked at Ichabod, who nodded, harsh coughs yet again taking over.  
Lady Van Tassel adjusted Ichabod's pillows and compress, hitching  
her skirts and following her husband down the stairs. Young Masbath  
already had on his heavy winter coat, having received orders from  
Katrina to fetch the physician.

"Thank you, lad," Baltus, and Katrina pulled Young Masbath to the  
side, placing a half dollar coin into the lad's hand. Young Masbath  
stared at it, his eyes widening. He opened his mouth to protest, but  
she pulled him into a tight hug. The boy blushed furiously once she  
released him, and he stepped back.

"T-thank you," he whispered, putting the coin into his trouser  
pocket. Katrina watched as the boy left the house. She gave a slight  
shiver herself as a gust of cold, autumn air blew in, causing the  
fire to flicker a little. She watched through the window as the boy  
made his way down the path, thick with mud from the rains. As soon  
as the boy turned a corner and disappeared, Katrina turned around  
again, one hand covering her face as she began to cry softly, her  
shoulders shaking. Baltus stopped whispering with his wife when he  
heard the quiet sobs and he hurried over to his daughter's side.

"Katrina." He soothed, helping her over to the bench. "Here now." He  
pulled her hand gently away and watched as she wiped her cheeks with  
her lace handkerchief. "Constable Crane will be all right."

Katrina hiccoughed as she glanced up at her stepmother, who was  
chopping vegetables on a wooden cutting board. "He is in so much  
pain," she choked. "He can barely move."

Baltus frowned. "We are going to do everything we can to make him  
well, Katrina. You must have faith."

Katrina nodded, forcing herself to turn to the food set out on the  
table, but nothing looked even remotely appetizing at the  
moment. Ichabod, you must get well…you must,' she thought to  
herself, a fresh flood of tears falling freely down her cheeks  
again.

_The pain in his chest was so great, that it felt as though it were  
on fire whenever he took a breath. "Mama!" He cried, reaching for  
her, grateful when he felt her hands envelope his. Lady Crane  
stroked her young son's sweat-soaked hair, caressing his flushed  
cheek. She reached over to the nightstand, pulling a bowl covered  
with a thin cloth, sprinkling a purple dust into it. A large purple  
cloud began to arise, filling the room slowly in a thick, yet sweet  
smelling haze…lavender._

Ichabod watched in a daze as it circled his head, filling every inch  
of him with its scent. "Mama!" He choked, coughing as he tried to  
brush away the steam. "Mama!"

"Ichabod…" Lady Cane's voice echoed softly. "Ichabod…"

  
"Ichabod?"

Ichabod's eyes snapped open when he felt someone shaking him gently.  
When he went to take a breath, a sudden overwhelming smell filled  
his nostrils, giving him the urge to do nothing but sneeze as much  
as possible. "HEHISHHHHUH! ESHHHHUH!! HEHISHHHHHUH! ESHHHHHUH!  
HEHISHHHHUH!"

Katrina sat beside the bed, a horrified expression on her face.  
Doctor Lancaster had arrived at last, and they had recently prepared  
a lavender steam bath to try and soothe Ichabod's  
headache. "HEHISHHHUH! HEHISHHHUH! ESHHHHUH! HEHSHHHHH!" Ichabod  
could barely gasp for air between sneezes, and he felt his eyes  
watering excessively.

"What's wrong with him?" Young Masbath asked, leaning on the edge of  
the bed. He had come in to help the Doctor and the rest of the Van  
Tassels in the treatments. Katrina rubbed Ichabod's back, trying to  
relax him.

"Perhaps the steam is irritating his nose," she suggested.

"HEHISHHHHUH! ESHHHHHUH! HEHISHHHHHH!" Ichabod reached for her hand,  
squeezing it tightly.

"Take it away, quickly!" Baltus ordered, and Katrina did as she was  
told, picking the bowl up and rushing it out of the room. Ichabod  
continued to sneeze, his body lurching forward with the explosions.  
No matter how many sneezes he released, his nose continued to itch  
unbearably. Mixed with his still throbbing head, sore throat and  
aching joints, he wanted to die on the spot.

"Young Masbath, fetch Constable Crane a handkerchief," Baltus  
ordered calmly, and the boy rushed over to his Master's desk,  
pulling out several white cloths, handing one to Ichabod and setting  
the others on the Constable's lap. Ichabod gratefully accepted one,  
rubbing his nose with it. Eventually and thankfully, the sneezes  
died down, and everyone in the room sighed with relief. Katrina  
returned, rushing over to Ichabod's bedside.

"We had no idea lavender irritated you," she whispered.

"I—HehISHHHH! IsHHHHH!" He sneezed weakly. "Did not remember." He  
gasped, falling back against the mattress, gulping air.

"And he was asleep when we started so we could not have asked him  
anyway," Doctor Lancaster sighed. "Constable Crane, I am afraid you  
may be starting to come down with the Winter Fever. There is quite a  
bit of congestion in your lungs as we've sat listening to your  
breathing."

"The Winter fever?" Ichabod's dark eyes widened in horror at the  
statement.

Doctor Lancaster nodded. "You were exposed to enough damp and cold,  
for a long enough period of time that it is very possible. We'd  
hoped you had just caught a bad chill, but normally with one who has  
a cold, their temperature goes down after a good night's rest." He  
felt Ichabod's forehead, clucking his tongue. Then he turned his  
head, addressing the occupants of the room once more.like "We'll  
have to keep him in bed for much longer than I'd hoped."

Baltus grumbled under his breath. "Of all the worst possible times…"  
he fiddled with his hands. "Perhaps we should try bleeding him?"

"Perhaps. I would give him until at least tomorrow before we go  
there."

Ichabod groaned quietly, turning his head to one side and swallowing  
past his raw throat. Katrina reached for his hand, feeling fresh  
tears fill her eyes. "We ought to give him a sponge bath to help  
cool his fever…we can not let it continue to rise like this." Lady  
Van Tassel spoke up.

Katrina stared. "Who is going to do this?" She asked curiously,  
glancing at her father, her stepmother, the doctor and Young  
Masbath.

"Certainly we would not move him to a tub," Doctor Lancaster shook  
his head. "Not at this state. We'll just use a cool cloth and blott  
only certain parts of his body at a time, to avoid chilling him.  
Though I do believe Constable Crane would be a bit more comfortable  
if the ladies would perform this act, would you not say so, Baltus?"

Baltus nodded. "Yes, a very good idea, doctor. Once again, Young  
Master Masbath, I would ask for your assistance…could you fetch a  
fresh basin of water and clean wash rags and towels?"

The young servant bowed. "Aye, sir," and took off.

"Do you need me to stay longer?" the physician asked curiously,  
glancing at his pocket watch. "I have quite a few rounds to make."

Baltus shook his head. "No, thank you kindly Doctor, I think between  
my wife and my daughter's skills, we'll be all right. Shall we send  
for you tomorrow?"

"If no signs of improvement show, yes." Doctor Lancaster packed up  
his things and stood, shaking Baltus' hand and nodding respectfully  
to Lady Van Tassel. Young Masbath came back with the items he'd been  
asked to retrieve just as the doctor was leaving, and stepped aside  
to let the old man exit the room. Once the physician was gone, the  
lad entered with the requested items, and set them on the cleared  
night table. Eventually Baltus lead Young Masbath away, letting the  
women take on the task by themselves.

"Which side will we sponge down first?" Katrina asked, dipping one  
of the rags into the water, while her stepmother gently unbuttoned  
Ichabod's nightshirt. He watched her through half-open eyes, his  
vision blurring again from the pain.

"We'll wash his chest first, and then his back," Lady Van Tassel  
replied calmly. "Just open up the rag and lay it flat like so…good."  
Katrina covered Ichabod's chest and shoulders with the first wet  
towel, feeling her heart break as she saw him shiver.

"Katrina!" he cried out, his eye squeezing shut with discomfort, as  
Lady Van Tassel bathed his face with another rag. "Katrina!" He  
shouted again, trying to sit up, but Lady Van Tassel kept a firm  
hand on his shoulder.

"Shhhh." Katrina soothed, squeezing his hand. "I'm right here."

"HEHISHHHUH! ESHHHHUH" Ichabod sneezed, his teeth chattering.

"God bless you." Katrina sighed.

"Calm down," Lady Van Tassel comforted the man. "Fetch a fresh  
nightshirt for him, would you dear?" she asked, as Katrina continued  
bathing Ichabod's chest, her cheeks turning pink as she did so. "We  
don't want him to be chilled for longer than necessary..."

Katrina hurried over to the clothing press, and pulled out another  
linen nightshirt. She carryied it over to the bed, draping it over  
her chair to wait for use. They continued to bathe his chest and  
face, and he struggled through all of it, trying to get away from  
the icy cold droplets. "Please do not struggle," Katrina begged,  
placing a hand on his shoulder and gazing into his eyes. He stared  
at her, his expression suddenly terror-filled.

"What have you done with Katrina?" Ichabod whispered, his eyes wide.  
Katrina glanced at her stepmother, who blotted his forehead with the  
damp cloth she held.

"I'm Katrina," Katrina insisted. "Ichabod, I'm right here…"

"What have you done with her? Let me go, let me go!" He attempted  
to sit up, but was restrained by both women.

Downstairs, everyone was listening to the Constable's shouts…Young  
Masbath sat at the kitchen table, his eyes wide and his mouth  
hanging open. He'd never heard Ichabod behave like this, and it  
frightened him. Sarah had stopped rolling dough to listen, and was  
staring up at the ceiling. "The poor man…" she sighed. "It's the  
fever talking, Young Masbath," she added comfortingly. "He does not  
know what he is saying."

Baltus sat in his usual chair by the fireplace, clutching his glass  
of brandy very tightly. The last one to be as ill, or close to it,  
in the house had been his wife. And she had passed away as a result.  
He remembered her cries of pain and delusion, and started trembling  
slightly.

"NO, NO! LET ME GO!" Ichabod's voice echoed through the walls, and  
Young Masbath closed his eyes, griping the edge of his seat.

"Stop hurting him, please stop hurting him…" he begged, choking on  
sobs, and Sarah touched his arm softly.

"They're not hurting him, dear, they're only sponging him down." She  
turned to Baltus, and walked over to him. "Would you like another  
brandy, sir?"

Baltus yelped and threw the half-filled glass across the room,  
watching as it smashed against the wall, spilling liquid all over  
the rug. Sarah sighed, and went to fetch a dustpan and brush to  
clean it up, while he sat with his hand over his mouth.

Young Masbath had heard the crash as well, and was staring at the  
older man. "We're all a bit jumpy," Sarah told him with a smile,  
after the mess had been cleared. Baltus apologized for having made  
it to begin with, once he managed to compose himself, but she shook  
her head.

"No apologies are necessary." She went to throw the contents away.

Back upstairs, the sponge down had finally been completed, and  
Ichabod, after a long bit of shouting and carrying on, had collapsed  
into sobs, and was face down against his pillow. Katrina was crying  
too, though they were silent tears. She helped Lady Van Tassel pull  
a clean, dry nightshirt onto Ichabod, and they tucked him in again,  
turning him over so he would not suffocate. "Is he going to die?"  
Katrina whispered, as she helped put the rags into the basin. Lady  
Van Tassel gave Katrina a thoughtful smile.

"Of course not. You, of all of us, should know better than to think  
such a thing."

Katrina turned away, folding her arms tightly across her chest. "He  
doesn't know us," she choked. "He doesn't know us anymore…"

"HEHISHHHHUH! ESHHHHHUH!" Ichabod sneezed, his body lurching upward.

Lady Van Tassel turned to Katrina, lifting the basin. "Take this  
downstairs and empty it. Then make yourself a cup of hot tea. I'll  
sit with Constable Crane for now…"

Katrina started to protest, but Lady Van Tassel put the basin into  
her arms and gave her a nudge towards the door. 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The struggle during the sponge bath left dear Ichabod utterly spent.  
Once Lady Van Tassel put a fresh night shirt onto the constable and  
changed his sheets, she made her way downstairs, carrying the half-  
empty basin and rags. Everyone stood as she entered the kitchen, all  
eyes filled with concern, and Young Masbath looked nearly ready to  
cry. "My dear, how is he?" Baltus asked, holding his second glass of  
wine. His face was as white as marble. Katrina sat in the other  
chair, watching as her stepmother set the basin onto the table.

"I am not certain yet," she admitted.

Katrina finally had enough and stood, nearly knocking over her chair  
in the process. Without a word, she hitched her skirts and dashed  
out of the room, disappearing up the flight of stairs. Young Masbath  
stood as well, and turned towards Baltus, who shook his head  
sorrowfully. "I'll go and make sure she's all right, sir," he  
insisted, walking as calmly as he could past Sarah, who still held  
her wooden rolling pin. He followed the sound of Katrina's  
footsteps, hearing the sound of a door open above him. It was then  
that the boy realized there was another doorway, down a very narrow,  
dark corridor and up another staircase. A door leading to an attic.  
He stood at the bottom of this new set of stairs, listening to the  
sound of her sobs.

Young Masbath awkwardly climbed the steps, opened the door, and  
faced a rather large room, cluttered with odds and ends. Katrina lay  
on an old, moth-eaten couch, her delicate face pressed against the  
fabric. Her shoulders were shaking, and clearly she had no idea that  
anyone else was there. "Miss Katrina?" the servant boy asked  
quietly, moving towards her. Katrina gasped in surprise, and lifted  
her head. Her cheeks were rosy and wet with tears, and her eyes  
bloodshot.

"Masbath…" Katrina quickly retrieved her silk handkerchief, and  
dabbed at her face, feeling foolish. She hated it when people saw  
her cry. "How did you know I was up here?" she sniffed and blew her  
nose, making the boy grimace.

"I followed you," he admitted. "I am sorry, it was rude of me…" he  
turned red with humiliation and looked down at his feet.

Katrina smiled softly, and shook her head. "It was not rude of you  
at all. I am glad at least, that you came, and not my father."

He smiled back, glad to have Katrina's approval. "You may sit," she  
whispered, sitting up and patting the space beside her on the couch.  
The lad did as he was told, trying not to sit too close to her. Once  
she managed to compose herself, she took a deep breath. "He does not  
know who we are," she choked, feeling a fresh flood of tears fill  
her eyes. "He did not know me…"

The boy frowned slightly. "It is the fever," he explained sadly.

"Why did this have to happen?" she added, leaning against the arm of  
the couch again, burying her face in her arms. "Ichabod does not  
deserve this…" Both of them could hear him coughing downstairs. "We  
may have to bleed him tomorrow if he does not improve," she  
sighed. "I am hoping that the sponge bath will help somewhat."

"HEHISHHHUH! ESHHHUH!!"

The lad managed a slight smile at the sound of his master's sneezes,  
and glanced towards the dusty window. "For someone who is so quiet,  
my master does have quite a loud sneeze…"

Katrina chuckled, lifting her head again. "He would not like to hear  
us tell him that." She sighed. "Young Masbath, can you keep a  
secret? And would you promise not to tell anyone?" she stared  
straight into the boy's eyes, as though she were trying to peer  
right into his soul.

"I promise I won't tell." He held his breath, startled by her  
familiarity and wondering what she was going to say. Katrina blushed  
furiously, chewing nervously on her lower lip.

"I am in love with Ichabod." She felt her heart racing as a result  
of the comment, and she could see the shock on the boy's face.

"In love with him? Why?"

Katrina smiled softly. "I do not know," she admitted. "He has cast a  
spell on me."

Young Masbath grinned. "And I am certain he thinks the same of you,  
Katrina. I see the way he looks at you when you pass."

Katrina beamed. "Now that my confession is out in the open, you must  
swear to me…"

"That I will not tell a soul, not even my master," he finished for  
her, nodding his head. "And I do promise."

Katrina pulled the boy into a tight hug. "Thank you. It is not  
proper to say such things, but I feel much better now that someone  
understands at least." She folded her hands on her lap, and gazed up  
at the ceiling. It had been so long since she had come up here. The  
attic held so many memories, and she could almost feel her dead  
mother's presence. It was not an uncomfortable presence, however.  
She noticed a large, wooden rocking horse in the corner, that her  
father had made for her himself. Young Masbath watched as Katrina  
stood and went over to it, sitting down on the small leather saddle.  
She rocked back and forth, smiling as she did so. "My father made  
this," she told him, stroking the horse's mane, made of thick, brown  
yarn. "It was my favorite toy as a child."

Young Masbath grinned as he watched. "Would you like to try it?" She  
asked, standing up and getting off.

"Oh no, Miss Katrina, I couldn't possibly…"

"Go on," Katrina encouraged with a smile. "And what did I tell you  
about calling me "Miss"?" she winked, and stepped aside, allowing  
him to climb onto the wooden animal.

"I am sorry," he apologized, as he began to rock. "I forgot."

Katrina stroked his back absently, deep in thought. "I think we  
should head back down," she said firmly. "I am sure my father is  
probably worried, and I would like to see if Ichabod's fever has  
gone down." She helped the boy off of the rocking horse, and the two  
of them made their way back to the kitchen. Sarah glanced up from  
her work when she heard them enter, then put the last piece of dough  
onto a baking pan.

"Your father has gone to fetch Mr. Van Brunt," she explained, before  
Katrina could inquire about his absence.

"Whatever for?" Katrina felt her heart turn cold as ice.

"And for Doctor Lancaster. I believe they are going to bleed  
Constable Crane, Miss Van Tassel."

Katrina closed her eyes and placed a hand against her stomach,  
feeling ill herself. Young Masbath raised his eyes.

"Why do they need…"

"They insisted women not be present in the room during this," Sarah  
began softly, "And the doctor needs another hand."

Katrina shook her head, feeling helpless. She glanced at Masbath,  
who stood off to the side, staring into the crackling fire.

Brom, meanwhile, returned from the tavern just in time to see Baltus  
Van Tassel approaching his home. Brom raised his eyes in surprise,  
quickly dismounting from his black steed. "Mr. Van Tassel! What an  
unexpected…" he cleared his throat, and gave a slight, formal bow.

Baltus remained on his horse, nodding in response. "Excellent. I was  
just coming to find you. We will be in need of your assistance…"

Brom cocked his head to one side, curious as to why he was  
needed. "My assistance...?" he asked.

Baltus grimaced at the faint smell of alcohol on Brom's breath, but  
he did his best to ignore it. "I am going to fetch Doctor Lancaster  
and we are going to bleed Constable Crane. The illness has reached  
the point where that procedure is necessary."

Brom frowned. "It is that bad?" he asked, tightening his grip on the  
reins.

"The constable's chill is threatening towards the Winter Fever, I am  
afraid."

"I am sorry to hear that," Brom lied through gritted teeth. If his  
original plan had worked, the ridiculous constable would be dead,  
and they would not have had to deal with any of this. Still, he did  
not want Baltus Van Tassel to know that he was the cause of  
Ichabod's sickness, so he pretended to be sickeningly concerned. "I  
am on my way." He reluctantly re-mounted his horse, digging his  
heels into its sides. "Yah!" With a loud whinny, the animal took  
off, galloping fast through the mist. Baltus watched Brom ride  
onward, fiddling with the reins of his own horse. He turned and  
headed towards the doctor's office.

Doctor Lancaster sat at his desk, scribbling something down on a  
slip of parchment, a few, multi-colored bottles sitting in front of  
him. Each had their corks unplugged and they gave off a rather  
bitter odor. He picked up a bottle of dark green liquid, sniffed it  
slightly, and cringed before putting the cork back in. He moved it  
aside and jotted down another note. Just as he was about to reach  
for the second bottle, he was interrupted by a few knocks on the  
door. Grumbling, the old physician stood up, holding his aching back  
with his hand. Stiffly, he opened it. "Ah…Baltus…" he stepped aside  
to let the guest in, shutting the door after him. "Has Constable  
Crane taken a turn for the worse since the bath?"

"Well, my wife has told us the fever has yet not lowered. We decided  
that it would be best to start the bleeding now."

The doctor nodded in agreement. "All right, let me gather my things  
and I will join you."

Baltus stepped to the side, watching the physican pack up supplies  
into his large, black satchel. One of the objects he placed into the  
bag was a brass lancet. Baltus gave a slight shudder as it gleamed  
in the faint, evening twilight. The two men quickly exited the  
building, pausing only for the doctor to saddle his horse, and  
briskly heading back towards the mansion.

Katrina sat beside Ichabod's bed yet again, holding his hand and  
waiting for everyone to arrive. Lady Van Tassel had gone downstairs  
to gather gauze and some hot water. Ichabod moaned in his sleep,  
shifting a bit, and Katrina saw that his eyes fluttered under their  
lids. He tightened his grip on her hand, but not so much that it  
hurt. She reached over and caressed his burning forehead, longing to  
kiss it.

She heard the door open and could make out several voices. She  
recognized Brom's immediately, and even the voice of his friend,  
Glenn, who had probably met him on the way. She could hear footsteps  
hurrying upstairs, and Lady Van Tassel appeared in the doorway. "It  
is time for you to leave, my dear," she urged, placing the tray she  
carried on a small side table.

"Katrina? Dearest? Out you go," Baltus ordered firmly, and Katrina  
squeezed Ichabod's hand tightly before letting go. Glenn and Brom  
entered the room, and each nodded to her respectfully as she passed.  
Lady Van Tassel set the things down before leaving herself, and the  
door was shut after her. When the women were gone, the master of the  
house turned around. "I thank you for joining us, Glenn, we could  
use all the help we can get."

Glenn raised his eyes as Doctor Lancaster set down his bag, sitting  
in the chair beside the bed. He surveyed Constable Crane a moment,  
clucking his tongue and shaking his head. Brom and Glenn glanced  
awkwardly at each other before back to the invalid. "Yes, he is  
certainly in need of bleeding." He cleared his throat, taking out  
the lancet, tourniquet, and measured pewter bowl. "I will need  
someone to hold the bowl for the blood to drip into, and someone  
will need to hold his arm steady while I cut."

Brom stepped forward, agreeing to hold the bowl, while Glenn offered  
to hold Ichabod's arm. Baltus stood in the corner watching, fiddling  
with his thumbs absentmindedly. Brom felt his hands trembling as he  
held the jar, feeling slightly queezy as the Doctor tied Ichabod's  
arm with the tourniquet. The cloth was tight, making the constable  
cough in response, yet he still did not wake. Get on with it,' Brom  
begged silently, forcing himself to keep his eyes open.

Doctor Lancaster took a deep breath, and dug the sharp end of the  
lancet into Ichabod's arm, just below the elbow. He only made a  
slice about an inch long, but almost immediately, thick, red blood  
began to ooze over the flesh. Brom grimaced as the warm, metallic-  
smelling liquid dripped into the bowl, every so often touching the  
tip of his finger. "How long does this have to last?" Glenn wanted  
to know, turning slightly green at the sight of the blood.

"I will only take about two ounces. We cannot bleed him too much or  
we will finish him." Doctor Lancaster explained with a frown, using  
some of the gauze and hot water to sponge the incision to keep it  
bleeding.

Which would not be so much of a loss,' Brom thought bitterly.

The strange thing was Ichabod did not whimper once when the cut was  
made. When the ruby liquid reached the second ring from the bottom  
of the bowl, the doctor felt that enough blood had been drawn. He  
took a large pilet of the gauze, applying heavy pressure to the  
wound, undoing the tourniquet with his other hand. Brom set the bowl  
on the nightstand with a small shudder of revulsion, and both he and  
Glenn stood aside. "Will that be all then?" Brom asked, and Baltus  
nodded.

"I believe so. Thank you, you two may leave."

Brom and Glenn gratefully hurried out of the room and down the  
stairs, stopping before they reached the front door. "I don't know  
why I did it," Brom growled under his breath.

"You don't feel the least bit guilty that you caused this?" Glenn  
asked with surprise.

"He brought it on himself, the sniveling coward…I just helped  
enhance it, if you understand."

The two of them had no idea anyone else was nearby. They were  
standing in a corner at the base of the stairs, whispering. They did  
not realize Masbath stood in the parlour, listening to every word.  
He had his ear pressed to the wall and felt his cheeks burn with  
fury.

"Well, let's get the hell out of here…" Glenn gave a shudder.

Brom grabbed Glenn by the collar of his shirt. "If you tell anyone  
about this…" he snarled. Glenn's eyes widened in fear.

"I swear I won't tell anyone that you…"

"Quiet, or they'll hear you!" Brom hissed.

"Why are we talking about this here anyway?"

"Oh, let's go...I want some ale," Brom shoved Glenn towards the  
door, glancing over his shoulder as though he thought he heard  
someone. The two left the mansion quickly. Young Masbath stepped out  
from his hiding place when the door shut. His eyes were filled with  
hot tears again and he wanted to scream. If he were not a servant,  
he would have chased after the brute and attacked him. Katrina came  
into the hallway, smiling with relief.

"They're gone, thank goodness…" She stopped short. "What is wrong,  
boy?"

He turned to her, his fists clenched. "I know I'm going to regret  
this, Miss Katrina, and I know it isn't my place to say such things,  
but Mr. Van Brunt did it."

"Did what, Masbath?" She cocked her head to one side, not  
understanding.

"He caused my master's accident. I overheard him and his friend  
whispering about it before they left. He said he wanted Constable  
Crane to…" Young Masbath ran off, unable to say anymore. Katrina  
stood staring after him, shocked. It wasn't true…it couldn't be! She  
quickly pulled the door open and rushed outside, hurrying after Brom  
and Glenn. Luckily, they had not ridden far, and both were laughing  
about something.

"Brom Van Brunt, you stop right there!" she yelled, and both young  
men pulled their horses to a stop in surprise.

"Katrina? What do you want?" the broad-shouldered man asked, turning  
his horse so he could face her.

"It was you…"

"What?"

"You did this! You were the "Headless Horseman"! How dare you…"

He scowled. "And who told you?"

She could hardly speak she was so angry. "I will never forgive you  
for this!"

Brom looked at Glenn, whose eyes were wide in surprise. "Katrina…"  
he started to protest, but her icy stare cut him off.

"I curse you, Brom Van Brunt. I curse the day I ever set eyes on  
you!" she turned on her heel and swiftly ran back to the mansion.

When she was out of earshot, Brom swore loudly, kicking his horse  
into motion and disappearing into the mist. 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

For the remainder of the afternoon and early evening,  
Katrina and Young Masbath kept a constant vigil at Ichabod's  
bedside. At first, they switched every hour, allowing each other to  
get some rest or something small to eat, but soon they decided to  
share a watch together.

"Is he ever going to get well?" Young Masbath whispered,  
watching as Katrina blotted Ichabod's forehead, cheeks and neck with  
a damp cloth. Ichabod had not opened his eyes once since the  
bleeding and from what Katrina could see, he had not shown any sign  
of improvement so far. It had only been a little less than two days  
since the "accident", and it frightened her how quickly Ichabod was  
worsening. Then again, he was frailer than the men she was used to  
seeing in Sleepy Hollow, so it really did not surprise her.

"It is too early to tell, Young Masbath," Katrina sighed,  
continuing to blott Ichabod's feverish skin. Ichabod suddenly began  
coughing hard, gasping a bit for air. Katrina immediately helped him  
sit, so she could rub his back until the fit passed. Young Masbath  
hurried over to the nightstand, fetching the fresh cup of mint tea  
recently brought up by Sarah, and handed it to Katrina to give to  
Ichabod.

"Shhhhh." Katrina soothed, allowing the young Constable to  
catch his breath. When he had calmed down enough, she tipped the  
edge of the mug against his dry, cracked lips, and helped him take a  
few small sips. Young Masbath sat down and leaned back in his chair  
again, staring up at the ceiling wearily. Whenever the boy thought  
about what he'd overheard Brom and Glen discussing in the Van  
Tassel's front hallway, it made his blood boil.

"Are you going to tell your father about it?" he spoke up,  
causing Katrina to lift her head. "About what really happened?"

Katrina pulled the covers closer to Ichabod's neck. "I am  
not going to sink to Borm's level." She replied through gritted  
teeth. "Let him live with his own guilt. If he ever puts another  
hand on Ichabod…" she closed her eyes and took a few, steady  
breaths.

Lady Van Tassel soon entered the room, carrying a tray with  
a couple of small phials and a bowl of steaming chicken broth. "It  
is time for the both of you to rest," she announced, startling them.  
Katrina reluctantly released Ichabod's hand from her grasp, and  
stood up, along with Young Masbath. It already dark, due to the fact  
that it was late autumn.

"If he calls my name, will you fetch me?" Katrina asked  
quietly, as Young Masbath left the room before her, with a nod to  
the lady of the house. Lady Van Tassel nodded, narrowing her eyes at  
her stepdaughter. Katrina took one good look at Ichabod, before  
turning and following in Young Masbath's wake. When the two of them  
were gone, Lady Van Tassel sat down in Katrina's chair, pulling a  
small tube of smoothe, white powder from the pocket of her dress.  
She stared at the tube for a good moment, before popping the cork,  
and dashing a few spoonfuls of the powder into the broth. Ichabod  
squirmed a bit, making a small noise in his sleep.

Lady Van Tassel scowled slightly. A being of flesh and  
blood,' she thought, remembering the conversation between Ichabod  
and her husband in the old library. And I will discover him…' she  
let out a small chuckle, shaking Ichabod's shoulder gently. The  
constable opened his dark eyes, unable to focus properly. He was in  
such pain that he was almost afraid to move, for fear that he might  
vomit all over his caretaker's clothing.

"You must take in some broth," Lady Van Tassel encouraged,  
lifting the warm bowl into her delicate hands. The white powder had  
completely dissolved into the liquid, much to her satisfaction.

"I—can't," Ichabod whispered, for even the mere thought of  
eating made his stomach lurch. He closed his eyes tightly to keep  
the world from spinning. Lady Van Tassel gave him a soft smile.

"You must keep up your strength, Constable. Only a few  
small spoonfuls and I will be satisfied."

Ichabod re-opened his eyes, weakly turning towards the lady  
of the house, and did his best to lift his head as high off of the  
pillows as he could. He could hardly smell the broth at all, which  
he supposed was a good thing in a way. Lady Van Tassel carefully  
dipped the large soup spoon into the bowl, and Ichabod opened his  
mouth, waiting for the tiny bit of nourishment. Lady Van Tassel fed  
him the one dose, feeling her heart start to pound. The directions  
on the poison bottle read that the it took at least two to four  
hours before any of the effects would be known. It did not actually  
kill for a good two days. And I will soon be able to return to my  
work,' she thought bitterly, watching as he weakly gulped the light  
broth.

"Good." She complimented, dipping the spoon into the bowl  
once more.

Meanwhile, Katrina sat upon her bed, gazing into the unlit  
fireplace. The room was fairly cold, but she did not notice it at  
all. In fact, she felt numb. She could hear the wind howling  
outside, knocking the barren branches of the tree outside of her  
window against the glass pane. Young Masbath had retreated to his  
quarters, and already she missed his company.

Seeing Ichabod in such terrible pain reminded Katrina strongly of  
when her mother had come down with the same illness two years  
before. It had been a very difficult struggle for the original Lady  
Van Tassel, who finally passed on in sleep in the early hours of  
morning. Katrina remembered falling to her knees before her mother's  
bedside, weeping.

Katrina clutched at the edge of her blanket, thinking about what  
Brom had done. She had known Brom for most of her life, and had been  
fairly good friends with him. After he had committed such a horrific  
act, Katrina did not want to have anything to do with him again.  
Still, she kept her word that she had told Young Masbath, about  
not telling her father about Brom's deed. It was not worth it.  
Ichabod would get well, and they could get on with their lives. It  
would be up to Brom whether or not he wanted the truth revealed.

She lay down on her mattress, gazing at the red, black and white  
patchwork quilt. Please, spare him,' Katrina begged silently,  
burying her face against her pillows, sobbing once more.

Late that night, Ichabod awoke, coughing and gasping for air. Lady  
Van Tassel awoke from her doze to pat his back, and held a fresh  
handkerchief to his cracked lips. "Cough up what you can, love." She  
encouraged.

Ichabod coughed again, gagged and spat a bit of thick, yellowish  
phlegm mixed with a few tiny bits of blood into the white linen  
square. When he managed to take a gulp of air, he felt his body  
break into a cold sweat and began to shiver violently again. Ichabod  
wanted to lie down again so badly, but his lungs gave way to yet  
another harsh fit of coughing and spitting. At last, he collapsed  
against the pillows, nearly spent.

Lady Van Tassel stood up and left to dispose of the soiled  
handkerchief, returning shotly after. "You look awfully cold, dear,"  
she added. "Let me stoke up the fire a bit and get you a couple of  
extra blankets." She pulled Ichabod's quilt up to his neck,  
tightening it around his body, so as not to allow any cool drafts  
in. Then she went over to add more logs to the crackling fire,  
lighting another match to enhance the flames. "I'll be right back  
again with the extra quilts," she added, leaving the room once more.  
Ichabod watched her weakly, continuing to shiver uncontrollably  
beneath the blankets he already had. The heat from the flames helped  
somewhat, warming his cheeks.

When Lady Van Tassel entered the room again, she carried two more  
heavy patchwork quilts, and wrapped them both around Ichabod as  
well. "Is that better?" she asked, trying very hard not to sneer too  
much. The poison was not working yet…this she knew. It had not even  
been twenty four hours since she'd given it to him.

"Katrina…" Ichbabod whispered. It was suddenly hot…too hot. He  
wanted to kick one of the quilts, off, but did not have the strength  
to do so.

"Katrina is asleep," Lady Van Tassel replied calmly. "As should you  
be."

Ichabod closed his eyes as he felt a slice of pain through his  
chest. "Too h-hot...t-t-thirsty," he coughed harshly "Make it  
stop..."

Lady Van Tassel leaned back against her chair, her eyes staring into  
his. "Not long now, my dear." She said coolly. "Not long at all."

Ichabod's hyperventilating continued, and to Lady Van Tassel's  
pleasure, he slipped out of consciousness shortly thereafter.

_His mother sat up with him late in the night, tenderly smoothing his  
feverish brow. He had not moved in quite a while, for fear of the  
incredible pain. Master Crane entered the bedroom, his face very  
stern, carrying a letter in his hand. "This arrived for you,  
Kathryn." He told her in his cool, smooth voice._

Ichabod opened his bright eyes, turning his head slightly. Kathryn  
Crane took the piece of yellowed parchment, opening it with  
trembling fingers. When she finished reading the message it  
contained, she broke down, sobbing fitfully, falling to her knees on  
the hard wood floor.

Master Crane stared. "What grieves my wife so?" he asked, keeping an  
eye on his very ill son.

"My mother was banished to the woods and left to die," Kathryn  
gasped, clutching at the note tightly. "Left to DIE."

Master Crane frowned. "Banished for witchcraft, I imagine. It is for  
the town's best interest, Kathryn. I believe that those who practice  
such nonsense deserve to perish."

Kathryn stared at her husband, her eyes wide with disbelief, her  
cheeks still wet with tears. When she turned again to her son, she  
clutched at his hand, bringing it up to her lips.

"How is it that they knew where to find you?" Master Crane demanded,  
his dark eyes flashing.

"A friend of mine knew where I would be. She knew my mother."

Master Crane nodded, before turning and leaving the room. Kathryn  
watched as her husband's black cloak disappeared through the door,  
before she began to mutter in a strange language Ichabod had never  
heard before. Her eyes were closed, and she was rocking to and fro.

Another flash of lightening suddenly filled the room, and when  
Ichabod turned towards the window, he noticed the family cat  
lounging on the sill. The cat stared at him through its large,  
yellow eyes, swishing its long black tail. Ichabod made a "psst psst  
psst" noise, encouraging it to hop onto the bed with him, but it  
remained still.

"Mama," Ichabod whispered in a hoarse voice. "He wont come to me."

Kathryn stopped rocking and muttering, opening her eyes. "What is  
that, love?"

"Simeon won't come to me…bad cat," he added, reaching towards it.  
Kathryn stroked his forehead and stood, walking over to the  
windowsill. She picked the animal up into her arms, and carried it  
over, preparing to lay it on her son's bed. The cat hissed, and  
scratched his way to the ground, taking off for the corridor as fast  
as it could go.

"Mama, why won't Simeon come to me?" Ichabod asked, his eyes filling  
with tears.

Kathryn kissed his cheek. "Rest now, my love. Rest now."  


Baltus made his way upstairs the next morning, and found his wife  
sound asleep in her chair beside Constable Crane's bed. She had her  
head bowed slightly, and her hands were folded on her lap. A platter  
with a bowl, glass and a few dark colored bottles sat on the  
nightstand, along with a couple of fresh cloths and handkerchiefs.

He walked over to Lady Van Tassel, gently shaking her awake. She  
opened her eyes, blinked a couple of times, before looking  
up. "Baltus…is it morning already?" she asked, then noticing the  
bright sunlight streaming through the curtains. "My, time goes by  
quickly." She allowed her husband to help her to her feet, before  
turning to Ichabod. The invalid lay under the heavy pile of  
blankets, his breathing very shallow in deed.

"Any improvements, my dear?" Baltus asked, going over to inspect  
Ichabod more closely.

Lady Van Tassel shook her head. "Not yet, Baltus. I am afraid he is  
getting worse…"

Baltus touched Ichabod's forehead awkwardly, before stepping back  
again. "Yes, he is still very feverish and dry. Katrina would like  
to take your place again, my dear…she and Young Masbath are both  
frantic."

Lady Van Tassel tried to hide her disgust, and gave a respectful  
nod, heading downstairs. Katrina and Young Masbath both hopped up  
from their seats in the kitchen, each pale and wide-eyed. "How is  
he?" Katrina asked, rushing over to her stepmother.

"He seems to have taken worse in the night, dear."

Katrina closed her eyes, feeling hot tears welling in them. Young  
Masbath lowered his head, turning towards Sarah who washed dirty  
plates in the sink, and she gave him a comforting smile. Katrina  
flew up the steps without another word, and burst into Ichabod's  
room. The first thing she noticed were the excessive amount of  
blankets piled on him. "No, no!" she gasped. "He's much too warm!"  
she immediately ran to the bedside and began stripping the quilts  
and sheets off, piling them at the foot of the bed. Katrina touched  
Ichabod's skin, and frowned. It was burning hot, and almost as dry  
as a sheet of paper.

"Sweetheart." She whispered, feeling his forehead and his chest,  
once she unbuttoned his nightshirt. Ichabod did not move at all. The  
only sign that he was still alive, was his shallow, labored  
breathing. Katrina stroked his cheek and then squeezed his  
hand. "Katrina's here." She sat down on the bed beside  
him. "Ichabod." Nothing. Katrina felt her heart racing, as she leapt  
off of the bed and dashed downstairs to fetch a basin of fresh, cold  
water and new rags.

Everyone jumped as Katrina rushed through the kitchen and out the  
front door. Young Masbath stood up and chased after her, with Baltus  
shouting "Katrina! Your cloak!" But they paid him no mind.

"Ma'am—do you need help?" Young Masbath asked, following in  
Katrina's wake as she hurried around the back of the house to the  
old water pump. Katrina stared as the boy approached her,  
breathless.

"Young Masbath, what are you doing outside without a coat?" she  
asked, filling the basin.

"The same to you," Young Masbath chuckled. "Do you need a hand?" he  
knelt down beside her, watching.

"No, but thank you. Go on back inside before you freeze!" she urged  
him on, before finishing her task. Young Masbath reluctantly  
returned to the house, and waited for her at the door. He offered to  
take the basin for her, and she complied, deciding that it was  
better to do so than to argue. The two made their way back into the  
kitchen, and up the stairs.

Katrina set the basin on the nightstand after clearing off the other  
things. "You do not have to be present, Young Masbath," she  
insisted, while soaking a few of the rags. Young Masbath shook his  
head.

"No, Katrina. I won't leave him. I'll help. Just please…don't make  
me go," he begged.

Katrina sighed as she wrung out the first cloth, and lay it over  
Ichabod's burning chest. "All right." She smiled fondly at the boy,  
very touched by his strong devotion to Ichabod. "Take these,"  
Katrina added, handing th e extra clothes to Young Masbath. "and  
soak them. Then wring them out, and lay them on any bare piece of  
skin. He must be rehydrated quickly. I don't know what my stepmother  
was thinking, using all of those blankets." She frowned, wondering  
what made the older woman do s uch a thing, especially if she  
considered herself a sick-nurse.

Young Masbath placed a cloth over each of Ichabod's arms and hands,  
while Katrina folded one over the Constable's brow. "Perhaps he was  
really cold," Young Masbath suggested with a small shrug. He did not  
know much about medicine.

"Even so, with a fever this high, he should be covered with nothing  
more than a light sheet and one quilt at least." Katrina shook her  
head with a sigh. Young Masbath nodded in understanding.

"I see…so he will not overheat?" he placed yet another damp cloth  
over Ichabod's neck. Katrina bit her lower lip in thought.

"He's as white as marble…" the boy continued quietly. "And ought he  
to be lying so still like that? I would be shivering with all of  
this cold water on me…"

Katrina's frown deepened as she smoothed Ichabod's forehead. "It  
most likely the fever's doing," she pondered. "He is still  
breathing, thank goodness." She took hold of his hand, fingering the  
wounds on his palms. She suddenly brought her hands towards her  
face, noticing that they were staind with blood. Quickly she turned  
one of Ichabod's palms upward, and saw that the circular scars were  
bleeding slightly. Young Masbath's eyes widened when he noticed the  
blood as well.

"How…" he started, but could not finish his sentence.

"I'm not sure…" Katrina took one of the handkerchiefs from the  
nightstand, and began dabbing gently at the spots. Ichabod continued  
to lay still as a statue, covered in the wet rags.

About an hour or so later, Sarah and Doctor Lancaster came upstairs,  
followed by Baltus. Lady Van Tassel remained in the kitchen, tending  
to the daily duties of the house. Doctor Lancaster was not pleased  
by Ichabod's progress, and shook his head sorrowfully.

"The poor man!" Sarah breathed, noticing the blood stained sheets.  
Katrina looked up, her dark eyes bloodshot with exhaustion.

"He's bleeding, doctor." She whispered, still clasping the linen  
square to Ichabod's hand. Doctor Lancaster set down his satchel, and  
thanked Sarah with a passionate smile, before telling her to leave.

"When did this begin?" he asked, as Young Masbath stood and offered  
his chair to the old physician. Doctor Lancaster sat down after  
pulling the chair closer to Ichabod's bedside.

"Not but an hour ago," Katrina replied. "And I am very worried…he  
has not moved at all this morning, even after we gave him a sponge  
down. He was as dry as a piece of parchment…" she did not dare  
mention the extra layers she had found on top of him, because she  
did not want to make any false accusations at present.

Doctor Lancaster removed the compress from Ichabod's forehead,  
shaking his head at the excessive heat still radiating from it. Then  
he picked up Ichabod's free wrist, checking the man's pulse. "The  
pulse is much too quick. Young Masbath, fetch my sthethescope from  
my satchel, will you lad?"

The boy did as he was told, opening the black leather bag with a  
small pop, and rummaging through its contents. He retrieved the  
stethoscope and handed it to the doctor before stepping to the  
corner of the room to be out of the way. Katrina continued to press  
the handkerchief against Ichabod's hand, watching as Doctor  
Lancaster placed the metal end of the stethoscope against Ichabod's  
chest. Young Masbath touched the wall beside him, feeling his heart  
racing with anxiety.

The room was silent as death as they waited. Baltus stood by the  
doorway, fiddling with the bottom of his vest, his eyes very large.  
Eventually, Doctor Lancaster removed the stethoscope, shaking his  
head. "There is nothing to be done," he told them. "I can not bleed  
him again or it will finish him."

Young Masbath choked ona sob as he hugged his arms, rocking back and  
forth on his heels. Baltus cocked his head to one side. "Are you  
absolutely certain?"

"I can not be more so," Doctor Lancaster replied. "I am sorry. All I  
can propose that we do is make the man as comfortable as possible,  
watch and wait and hope that he will pull through…"

Katrina closed her eyes, feeling the familiar tears well up in them  
again. "He must get well," she whispered. "He must…"

"Katrina, I think you and Young Masbath need time away from this  
room. Allow Doctor Lancaster to stay with Constable Crane for now."  
Baltus suggested, his voice trembling slightly.

"I can't," Katrina whispered. "Please, Father…let me stay."

Baltus frowned. "Katrina…"

"She'll be just fine. And I could certainly use another hand,"  
Doctor Lancaster insisted, giving the girl a knowing nod. Katrina  
turned towards her father again, awaiting his answer. Baltus sighed,  
finally giving in.

"Very well. Just please, do not neglect your own health, my dear.  
You must not forget to eat or sleep. Come, Young Masbath." He added,  
and the boy, though desparately wanting to beg to stay as well, knew  
better than to argue with the Master of the house. So he reluctantly  
slunk away from his corner, following Baltus out of the room and  
down the stairs.

When they reached the kitchen, Baltus turned to the lad, leaning  
towards him. "Run and fetch Reverend Steenwyck, my boy." He ordered  
softly.

"The Reverend, sir?"

"When all else fails, we must turn to the Lord's blessing."

Young Masbath gave a respectful nod, fetching his coat, and exiting  
the mansion. He ran faster than he ever had in his life, kicking up  
bits of dirt and pebbles from the road. Young Masbath burst through  
the church doors, startling the Reverend who was in the midst of  
refilling the little containers by the walls with holy water.

"Reverend, sir, Master Van Tassel has requested that you come at  
once…" he gulped and panted at the same time.

The priest raised his eyebrows in surprise, looking the boy up and  
down. "What is it that he wants?" he asked in a rather cool voice.

"It's Constable Crane, sir. The medicine has not been working, and  
we need…"

Reverend Steenwick set the bottle of holy water down, and nodded. "I  
will follow you in a moment." He went to fetch his own overcoat and  
a large bible from on top of the alter. "Lead the way, young man."  
He added, watching as Young Masbath began jogging back. They entered  
the mansion, where Lady Van Tassel sat in the rocking chair by the  
window, watching them through narrowed eyes.

"Good morning, Reverend." She greeted icily.

"Good morrow." Reverend Steenwyck replied, quickly hurrying up the  
stairs after the boy. He entered Ichabod's room, where everyone  
stood, watching as he came towards them.

"This is one of the worst cases of Pneumonia I have ever seen,  
Reverend," Doctor Lancaster admitted. "We have tried many different  
remedies for it, but nothing appears to be working."

Reverend Steenwyck opened his bible to a particular page, and told  
Katrina to remove the compress from Ichabod's forehead. "I urge you  
all to get down on your knees and beg for the Lord's mercy," he  
began, and without question, Katrina and Young Masbath fell to floor  
on their knees without question beside the bed. Once they both had  
their eyes closed, Reverend Steenwyck placed the open bible, pages  
down, over Ichabod's face. He placed one hand on the book and held  
the other in the air as though he were swearing an oath.

"Omnipotent and eternal God, the everlasting Salvation of those who  
believe, hear us on behalf of Thy sick servant, Ichabod Crane, for  
whom we beg the aid of Thy pitying mercy, that, with his bodily  
health restored, he may give thanks to Thee in Thy church. Through  
Christ our Lord. Amen." He made the sign of a cross over Ichabod's  
head and body, glancing at Katrina who was murmering to herself in  
latin, rocking back and forth slightly.

Reverend Steenwyck removed the bible, revealing Ichabod's still-  
sleeping face, and turned to Doctor Lancaster. "We must now wait and  
hope that Constable Crane will pull through."

Katrina lifted her head, standing gracefully. Young Masbath did the  
same, and the two stood watching Reverend Steenwyck with  
curiosity. "He is fighting well, despite what you may think," Doctor  
Lancaster told Katrina with a smile. "He has not given up yet."

"And he WON'T," Katrina cut in.

Baltus and Lady Van Tassel soon appeared, each looking anxious. "He  
has still not awoken?" Baltus asked, his voice filled with concern.  
Lady Van Tassel stood with her eyes fixed on Ichabod, sneering a  
bit.

"I'm afraid not. But we cannot rush the Lord's prayer. It will work  
in time. For now, keep the house quiet and let him rest." Reverend  
Steenwyck turned to the members of the household. "Would you need me  
for anything else? I am afraid a prayer is all I can do…I am no  
healer, that is for certain."

Baltus shook his head. "No. You are a busy man, Reverend. See him to  
the door, my dear." He added, and Lady Van Tassel nodded  
respectfully, turning and heading out of the room, skrits rustling.

"We must do as he says…keep the house quiet," Baltus told Doctor  
Lancaster. "Doctor, would you remain to aid my Katrina? She does not  
wish to leave Constable Crane's side…"

Doctor Lancaster nodded. "Of course. As long as I am needed, I will  
stay."

Baltus turned to Young Masbath. "Lad, I would recommend that you  
take in a bit of fresh air. I will be down in the parlour if you  
need anything, Doctor. And if Constable Crane shows any signs of  
improvement, please let me know, Katrina." He added, and his  
daughter gave a nod, sitting down in her chair beside the sickbed. 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

When three long days passed and Constable Crane had still  
not awoken, the members of the Van Tassel household began to loose  
all hope. Katrina practically lived in Ichabod's room, refusing to  
leave the young man's side. Young Masbath every so often came in to  
sit with Katrina and the old Doctor, but was silent as a mouse.  
Eventually, Katrina urged Doctor Lancaster to take some rest, and  
after a bit of reluctance, the man agreed. "Call me if he wakes,"  
the physican ordered, standing up and leaving the bedroom. When he  
was gone, Katrina fumbled in the pocket of her gown for her piece of  
purple chalk, and gently eased Ichabod's head off of the pillow. He  
leaned limply against her shoulder as she began to sketch a large  
circle that contained numerous diagrams inside.

As soon as the last drawing was made, she lowered the pillow  
and Ichabod's head back onto it. She continued to stroke his head of  
thick, messy dark hair, singing softly an old lullaby her mother had  
taught her. Katrina watched his eyes as she finished singing, and  
saw them flutter beneath their lids. "Ichabod…" she whispered,  
touching his feverish forehead gently with her fingertips. "Ichabod,  
are you waking up?" she leaned forward hopefully. 

_Ichabod…Ichabod…_

It was so very dark.

Ichabod, are you waking?

Katrina…he could hear her voice, but where was it coming from?

Ichabod, please…you can do it, love…

Katrina…where are you?

At last, he saw a bright light appearing before his eyes, which  
slowly evolved into the room surrounding him.

At last, Ichabod's dark eyes fluttered open about halfway, and he  
gazed blankly ahead of him. "Oh God…" Katrina whispered, resting her  
head against his chest, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.  
Ichabod gazed at her fondly, a frail hand reaching up to stroke her  
hair gently. He tried to speak to her, but could not find his voice  
as his throat was so swollen. "Thank God you're awake," she added,  
lifting her head quickly. "I should not not have flown at you like  
that…" she blushed slightly. "But I'm so…" she wiped the tears from  
her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. "I must go and fetch the  
doctor straight away…" she stood up and hurried out of the room,  
hitching her skirts.

Ichabod watched as she left, feeling incredibly spent. His chest was  
still tight and thick with congestion, and he still felt hot and  
cold at the same time. But the feeling of nothingness was gone at  
least, which was a great relief. Doctor Lancaster came into the  
room, his eys wide. "Ah thank goodness, Constable Crane! Did he  
awake just now?" the physician turned to Katrina, who nodded.

"Just moments ago, yes." She squeaked.

"Go and inform your father then…I'll see to him while you do."  
Katrina did as she was told, flying down the stairs, nearly causing  
Sarah to upset the sugar bowl she was opening on the kitchen table.  
Young Masbath hopped up from his seat in the parlour, watching as  
she hurried in. "He's awake!" she cried, and Baltus let his brandy  
glass drop to the floor and shatter, sending liquid flying  
everywhere.

"Thanks be to God," he grunted as he stood up quickly. "How  
recently?"

Young Masbath was starting to cry with relief, tears falling down  
his pale cheeks.

"Not but five minutes ago, father." Katrina replied, going over to  
embrace Young Masbath in a tight hug, allowing the boy to let out  
his emotions. Lady Van Tassel stood in the corner, and if anyone had  
seen the expression on her face, they would have run for the hills.

She squeezed her chipped porcelain teacup so hard that it literally  
smashed to a thousand pieces. Everyone jumped at the noise, and  
turned to stare at her in surprise. She pretended to chuckle,  
shaking her head.

"My own careless mistake," she apologized. Katrina raised an eyebrow  
suspiciously as she continued stroking Young Masbath's head. Sarah  
fetched the old dustpan and brush, and hurried over to the mess,  
carefully beginning to clean it up.

"No worries, Madame." Sarah promised.

Baltus blinked before turning to Katrina. "Have you told Doctor  
Lancaster about this?"

"Yes, he's in the room with Ich—Constable Crane now," Katrina  
replied, before Young Masbath stepped away, still hiccouging and  
sniffling from his fresh flood of tears. Sarah tried to hide her  
laughter at the girl's blunder, disguising it as more of a cough as  
she stood with the filled pan. She went to dispose of the broken  
porcelain, just as Baltus urged Katrina to bring him upstairs.

"Are you coming, my dear?" he asked Lady Van Tassel, who quickly put  
on a horribly fake smile.

"No, darling. I must continue with my chores." Her voice was rather  
cool, but Baltus did not detect this.

"Very well." He continued walking up the stairs, and followed his  
daughter and Young Masbath into the sickroom. Doctor Lancaster sat  
listening to Ichabod's breathing and heart with the stethoscope,  
glancing up when he heard more footsteps. "How is he?" Baltus asked,  
as Young Masbath dashed over to the side of the bed, leaning on it  
with his palms.

"Oh sir, thank goodness you're all right!" the boy sobbed. Ichabod  
smiled at Young Masbath weakly, before coughing slightly.

"His fever has not broken yet," Doctor Lancaster replied, "though it  
has lowered considerably. And his breathing is still rather  
congested. But he pulled out of his faint, which is a very good sign  
in deed." He set the stethoscope aside. "Prayer does often take over  
medical remedies for a person's recovery."

"HehISHHHH!!" Ichabod sneezed weakly into his fist, shaking his head  
a bit to clear it. "I am sorry to have been such a burden," he  
whispered.

"Nonsense, Constable Crane." Baltus replied. "It was not your fault  
that you became ill."

Katrina hid her anger as she sat down again in her chair, touching  
Ichabod's hand gently. "At least some of his natural moisture has  
returned to his skin." She added softly. "He was so terribly dry  
before."

"Which was unusual I must say," Doctor Lancaster admitted. "He has  
been taking in plenty of liquids…"

Katrina raised her eyes. "You say that such dry skin is uncommon?"

"Your mother did not have skin like that when she was ill," Baltus  
told his daughter with a deep frown. "Her skin was soaked with sweat  
most of the time from the fever."

Katrina felt another pang of suspicion. Ichabod had not quite felt  
as dry before the night her stepmother had taken over the watch.  
Still, she could not jump to conclusions. Each body reacted  
differently to certain ailments, this much she knew. "I see." She  
said in a quiet voice. "What else do you feel should be done for the  
fever?"

"Perhaps we can ask Mrs. Killian…she is a midwife after all, and  
knows quite a bit about illness." Baltus suggested. Katrina nodded.

Though she knew quite a bit about illness as well, Katrina knew that  
the wife of the village blacksmith had more experience with it.

"Is not your wife a sick nurse, Baltus?" Doctor Lancaster asked,  
raising his white eyebrows.

"Yes, but she has not been successful either. I think we should  
bring in a new mind to see what it can come up with. Young Masbath,  
would you be so kind?" Baltus asked, nodding to the young lad  
respectfully just as Ichabod broke into another fit of harsh  
coughing.

"Yes sir," Young Masbath replied, leaving the room once again.

"Constable Crane has been ill for a good week. It is going to take  
him some time to get back on his feet again and continue the murder  
case." Doctor Lancaster pointed out.

Ichabod had closed his eyes again in a light doze, listening to  
their voices. He hated being discussed as though he were an  
inatimate object that could not understand what they were saying.  
Still, he was too weak to bother cutting in. Baltus frowned.

"Yes, which will be quite difficult for us. I am hoping that the  
horseman decides to use common curteousy and not attack anyone until  
Constable Crane is well again."

Doctor Lancaster chuckled. "I do believe that is why he was sent to  
hell to begin with, Baltus. Lack of curteousy."

Baltus gave an understanding nod. "I suppose that is true."

Ichabod coughed again, groaning softly as the pain sliced through  
his chest like a knife. "Katrina." He whispered, reaching for her,  
and Katrina glanced over her shoulder at her father, gripping the  
Constable's hand.

"I'm here, Ich—Constable," Katrina corrected, shaking her head.

"Why do you feel the need to correct yourself, Katrina?" Baltus  
asked with a small smile as he noticed his daughter blushing  
furiously.

"It is not proper to call a man by his first name unless you are in  
a close relationship," She replied softly.

"Though you call Mr. Van Brunt by his first name, do you not,  
dearest?" Baltus added, cocking his head to one side. Katrina tried  
to hide her bitterness.

"That is because I have been good friends with him since we were  
young." She replied rather icily.

"Well, whatever you feel is right, Katrina." Baltus gave a slight  
shrug. "Is there anything I might be able to fetch for you while I  
am here, Doctor?" He added, watching as the physician placed another  
cool compress on Ichabod's forehead. Ichabod moaned softly at the  
cool water against his feverish skin. He still felt so terribly ill,  
that he was not sure if he could ever get out of bed again.

"Katrina." He whispered again, reaching anxiously for her hand once  
more.

"On that note, I will return to the parlour," Baltus spoke up,  
fiddling with his waistcoat buttons again. "I will send Sarah up  
with a fresh mug of tea." He departed as Katrina squeezed Ichabod's  
frail hand gently, fingering the rough scars

"Hush," she soothed. "I'm here." She glanced at Doctor Lancaster who  
had leaned back in his c hair again with a slight frown.

"The fever is what concerns me most," the physician began. "That  
alone will weaken his system considerably if it continues to rise  
like this. I am afraid that even when he continues his work, he will  
not be able to take on much walking a day."

Ichabod started to cough and wheeze again, and Katrina took one of  
the fresh handkerchiefs from the nightstand, holding it against his  
lips. "Cough it up, love." She encouraged as Doctor Lancaster eased

Ichabod onto his side and pounded the man's back to loosen the fluid  
in his lungs. Ichabod suddenly gagged and spat up the familiar  
yellowish substance into the cloth, his eyes brimming with hot  
tears.

"The more fluid that comes out of his lungs the better," the doctor  
added as Ichabod gagged and spat again. Katrina cringed as she wiped  
his mouth before disposing of the soiled cloth.

"I hate seeing him so ill," she sighed, smoothing Ichabod's forehead  
once he calmed down.

Doctor Lancaster nodded in agreement. "It is a shame, yes."

Ichabod broke into another fit of harsh coughing, turning over and  
bundling beneath his quilts. He was so cold…his bare feet were like  
blocks of ice. His throat and lips were extremely dry…he was so  
thirsty, but the prospect of putting anything ginto his stomach at  
the moment was ludicrous. Katrina dipped another handkerchief into  
the bowl of water on the table and dabbed tenderly at his chapped  
lips. Ichabod closed his eyes, feeling a sense of relief from the  
touch. "I hope Young Masbath returns quickly…" Katrina said to no  
one in particular.

When at last Beth Killian arrived with Young Masbath about twenty  
minutes later, she gasped in shock. "My goodness! I had no idea…you  
ought to have contacted me sooner, the poor man!" Her head of long,  
red curls bobbed at her sh oulders as she hurried over to the  
bedside, setting down her case of herbs and other remedies. She  
rested a hand against Ichabod's forehead, clucking her tongue.

"How long has he been this ill?" she asked, as she began rummaging  
through the contents in her case.

"A little over a week," Katrina replied, feeling almost guilty for  
some reason. "I am sure your husband told you about the accident?"

Mrs. Killian nodded gravely. "Aye, he did. But he was not certain of  
Constable Crane's progress, as he's been so busy. He said it only  
looked like a cold to him." She sighed. "What has been tried so  
far?" She looked from the old doctor to Katrina, raising her emerald  
green eyes with curiosity.

"Many different herbal teas, chicken broth, steam baths…the poor  
dear had a severe reaction to the lavender scent we tried," Katrina  
explained, trying her best to keep her emotions in check. She did  
not want to cry in front of the midwife or the doctor, though it was  
very difficult to keep from doing so.

"Have you applied any ointments to his chest?" Beth asked. "Any  
syrups? Has Reverend Steenwyck been by?"

"Yes he has, and no we haven't," Doctor Lancaster took over.

"Hmmm. You have been making sure to sponge him down every couple of  
hours or so, have you not?" she pulled out a couple of phials filled  
with thick dark and light colored liquids, as well as a fewe pouches  
of herbs.

"Of course," Katrina replied, folding her hands in front of her.

"All right." Beth thought for a moment before tucking the blankets  
closer around Ichabod's sides. "Where does he complain of pain the  
most?"

"He is one fairly quiet patient I must admit," Katrina answered  
softly. "He bears his pain so uncomplainingly that sometimes we have  
to coax his ailments out of him. Some of them are quite obvious, but  
anything else…" she shook her head. "He did complain of a headache  
towards the beginning and that he was cold."

Beth nodded. "I see." She sighed. "Let me show you what I have here."

"HehESHHHuh! ESHHHH!" Ichabod sneezed, causing the woman to jump  
slightly.

"God bless you." Everyone chimed in at once, and Beth presented the  
small green bottle to the doctor. "This is a mint flavored syrup,  
which should help cool the fever. A spoonful every night, because it  
is very strong." She set that down on the nightstand. "Another  
remedy that I have used in the past is an ointment made mostly from  
soft cheese."

"HuhESHHH! EsHHHuh!" Ichabod groaned, shivering violently again.

"God bless, love." Beth told him with a small smile.

"We will make the ointment if we must," Katrina almost whispered,  
fighting against her tears. "Please, just tell us how."  
Beth reached into her case once again and pulled out a large jar. "I  
made some recently for my son," she replied thoughtfully. "It always  
helps to have some of it available."

Katrina felt a great sense of relief as the young woman unscrewed  
the jar lid, but cringed as the strong scent protruded from it. Beth  
pulled Ichabod's covers down slightly and unbuttoned his nightshirt  
before dipping her slender fingers into the smooth, thick substance.

Ichabod shivered violently at the cool air against this body, and he  
closed his eyes when he felt the ointment being rubbed against his  
chest. "If this does not help, I am not sure what will," Beth  
admitted quietly.

"What exactly is in it?" Katrina asked curiously, watching the  
procedure closely, making mental notes in her head for future  
ailments.

"A soft cheese, whey and milk," Beth told her. "I have the recipe  
with me and will copy it down for you.

"Thank you kindly, Mrs. Killian." Doctor Lancaster told the woman  
with a nod.

"Of course, Doctor. Sometimes three heads are better than two." She  
chuckled, applying more of the ointment onto Ichabod's skin. "You  
let this thicken and dry before removing it," she explained. "This  
should help with the congestion and fever."

"And apply it how often?" Katrina asked.

"At least once or twice a day, depending on how he is feeling. When  
the fever breaks, do not continue to apply it. And only teas and  
plain broths should be given to him when he first starts to feel  
better," she added. "Then after a few days you may feed him gruel or  
milktoast." She blotted his forehead with the compress that she had  
set aside for a moment.

"Milktoast. Yes, I know how to make that." Katrina sighed with  
relief, brushing a strand of hair away from her forehead with her  
braclet-covered wrist.

Beth nodded. "And keep him in bed as long as possible. He must not  
overexert himself, or there could be a possibility for a relapse.

Even when he feels well enough to continue his work here, someone  
must be with him at all times for his safety."

"He has me, ma'am." Young Masbath announced softly, and everyone  
jumped, having forgotten he was still in the room. Katrina noticed  
the boy standing in the corner by the door.

Beth smiled. "Wonderful. You may have to help him walk for the first  
couple of times outside. And make sure to bundle him up before going  
out also or he'll easily catch another chill, which could possibly  
kill him at this point."

Katrina felt her heart racing against her chest. Ichabod coughed as  
the cheese-based ointment cleared his nose a bit. "Does it help a  
bit, love?" Beth added, listening as Ichabod's breathing improved  
slightly. He only managed a very weak smile, and closed his eyes  
again.

"Hmmm." Beth brushed a stray lock of his hair away from his eyes,  
and turned to Katrina. "He's going to be just fine." She  
promised. "Just give it some time." She glanced at Doctor Lancaster,  
who was watching as Ichabod slept. "I'll sit with Constable Crane  
for a little while…you may go back to your office." She encouraged.  
Doctor Lancaster started to protest, but Beth held up her hand.

"Go on."

"All right then. I'll return in the morning to check on his  
progress." He stood, grimacing at his aching joints, and Young  
Masbath fetched the physician's bag of supplies and coat.

"I'll see you to the door, sir." The boy announced, and the doctor  
nodded respectfully to Beth and Katrina before following Young  
Masbath out of the room. 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

As Beth Killian had expected, the soft cheese ointment  
helped considerably. Ichabod felt much better after the second day  
of application, and was able to sit up in bed. Katrina was grateful  
to see that a bit of color was returning to his cheeks, and his eyes  
were sparkling naturally again.

"He still has a hint of fever upon him," Doctor  
Lancaster told Baltus and Lady Van Tassel after checking Ichabod  
over again. "He also has a bit of congestion left in his lungs…you  
can still hear it when he is breathing. But other than that, he is  
making a nice recovery. Let me just say that the worst of the danger  
has passed." He smiled as he slid into his overcoat. "Constable  
Crane will be wanting to get out of bed soon I'd wager. Once the  
fever breaks, I would keep him in bed for a couple of days just as a  
precaution. There is a chance that he coule relapse if he overexerts  
himself."

Baltus nodded in understanding, turning to his wife, who  
was clutching a rolling pin in her hands. She felt the need to have  
something to hold, to avoid going up and ringing Ichabod's  
neck. "Thank you, doctor," Baltus spoke finally, breaking the  
awkward silence that had filled the parlour. "You have been a great  
help as always." He shook hands with the physician as Lady Van  
Tassel showed the man to the door.

"My pleasure. Good evening." The doctor nodded  
respectfully to both of them, before leaving the mansion. When he  
was gone and the door closed, Lady Van Tassel leaned against it,  
sighing heavily.

"Goodness…what a trying couple of weeks it has been!"  
she exclaimed, still clutching the rolling pin so tightly that her  
knuckles turned white. Baltus noticed this, and removed the wooden  
object from her, setting it on one of the small tables.

"Yes." He took one of her pale hands in his own, and  
kissed it gently. "But it is nearly over, my dear." He led her into  
the kitchen.

Upstairs, Ichabod sat glancing through his old ledger  
while Young Masbath and Katrina chattered away. He felt so weak  
still, and even reading exhausted him. "Would you like something to  
eat?" Katrina asked, in the midst of laughing over something Young  
Masbath had told her. Ichabod sniffed, setting down the journal.

"I suppose it couldn't hurt," he replied, coughing.

Katrina nodded, nearly running into the servant boy on  
her way to the kitchen. "I'm sorry, Miss Katrina," Young Masbath  
apologized, blushing. "I'll go and fetch something." He sniggered  
and she hugged him in thanks. When he was gone, she turned back to  
Ichabod, still smiling.

"It's good to see you both in good spirits again,"  
Ichabod told her, pulling out his handkerchief. Katrina sat down in  
the chair beside the bed and nodded.

"We were very worried about you. And you still are not  
quite well yet." She reached over to feel his forehead. "You're  
still too warm for my liking."

Ichabld blew his nose, but this only made him cough  
again. "Chills tend to go straight to my chest more quickly than  
most," he admitted, blushing slightly. He tried not to let others  
know about his particular weakness. It was bad enough they thought  
him mad, with his scientific way of looking at things.

"Why is that?" Katrina asked with a frown, fiddling once  
again with the cardinal disk toy in her fingers. Ichabod gazed at  
the young woman fondly, sinking down under his covers.

"You are one of the few who know about this," he  
whispered, and she leaned forward.

"Your secret is safe with me, Ichabod." She clasped his  
hand in hers, massaging the little circular scars on his palms. Then  
she rested his hand against her cheek, closing her eyes and sighing  
with content.

"I had a bad case of whooping cough as a boy, and it  
nearly took my life." He finally explained. "I dreamt about that in  
fact…my mother caring for me…" he cleared his throat and blinked  
back tears that wanted to spill over his cheeks. "It weakened my  
system, so if anyone within a mile has a cold, I'll catch it." He  
added, just as Young Masbath returned with a tray. The boy stopped  
short when he saw the expressions on Katrina's and Ichabod's faces,  
and stepped back a pace.

"Oh…pardon my intrusion…" he blushed slightly. "I've  
brought your food, sir."

Katrina glanced over her shoulder, still holding  
Ichabod's hand. "It is no intrusion, love." She promised. "Let us  
see what you've brought."

On the tray was a large bowl of beef broth mixed with  
vegetables, and a glass of milktoast. "Perfect, Young Masbath. Thank  
you." She planted a small kiss on the lad's head before taking the  
platter from him and setting it down on the night table.

"We'll try a bit of the milk toast first as it does not  
have as much seasoning." Katrina announced, taking the mug gently  
with her hand. Ichabod struggled to lean up against the headboard,  
allowing her to tip the edge of the mug against his still chapped  
lips. "Just small sips, love. This is a bit thick," Katrina  
encouraged, watching as Ichabod took a tiny sip of the liquid.  
Ichabod swallowed it with a bit of difficulty, as his throat was  
still fairly swollen from all of the coughing. Katrina waited until  
he had finished the first sip before giving him another, and smiled  
at Young Masbath who had taken a seat in his chair again to watch.

"Very good. How does it taste?" she asked Ichabod, who  
cringed when he took a larger mouthful. He licked his lips, his brow  
furrowing in thought.

"Different." He told her simply, and this simple  
response made Young Masbath giggle.

"How is your stomach?" Katrina added, hesitating to give  
him another dose. Ichabod smiled at her.

"A bit queezy, but not nearly as bad as it has been." He  
sniffled, quickly covering his nose and mouth with his  
handkerchief. "HEHISHHHHUH!" he sneezed, making both of the room's  
occupants jump.

"God bless." Katrina chuckled, watching as he blew his  
nose again. "Would you like to try a bit more?"

Ichabod shook his head. "No…thank you. I think I'm just  
going to go back to sleep for a little while. You both can leave if  
you wish." He added, figuring that neither Katrina or Young Masbath  
had gotten much sleep for the past couple of weeks due to the dark  
circles under each of their eyes. Katrina sighed.

"All right, Ichabod. Just rest then." She caressed his  
cheek tenderly with her fingertips, before motioning for Young  
Masbath to follow her out of the room. Ichabod listened as the door  
opened and closed, and he waited until the footsteps were long gone  
before closing his eyes.

Ichabod slept for the remainder of the afternoon, only waking to  
take in a bit of broth or tea. He had to clear the mucus from his  
lungs twice into a basin following a eucalyptus steam bath. The  
hacking cough took so much energy out of Ichabod that it made his  
temperature rise, much to the household's disappointment.

"He was doing very well earlier this morning," Baltus told Beth  
Killian who returned per request once again to check on "her  
patient" after supper that night. "The fever seems to go and come  
back when we least expect it…" he added.

When Beth entered Ichabod's room, she found Katrina keeping yet  
another vigil on one side of the Constable's bed and Sara the  
servant on the other. "His temperature never actually broke, am I  
correct?" Beth asked, placing a hand on Ichabod's forehead gently.  
She noticed that Katrina had taken hold of Ichabod's hand, and  
smiled at the gesture.

"No." Katrina sighed. "It did lower considerably since the ointment."

"How often have you been applying the ointment to his chest?" Beth  
asked, setting down her bag.

"Every couple of hours." Katrina replied sadly.

"Have you given him anymore of the spearmint oil I prescribed?"

"Not since late last night," she admitted. "And it made him very  
ill."

Beth nodded. "The spearmint syrup is a very strong medicine, yes.  
But as you told me, between that and the ointment his temperature  
had gone down considerably."

"Yes." Katrina agreed.

"Young Masbath, fetch that basin for me, will you love? We're going  
to try a bit more of the syrup. Then I think we'll try giving him a  
luke warm bath and see how that helps."

Katrina blushed a bit at the prospect, but tried her best to hide  
her embarrassment. Baltus turned to Young Masbath once the basin was  
set beside Ichabod's pillow. "Lad, go downstairs and have the other  
servants fill the tub and bring it up here. Beth watched as the boy  
scurried off, and listened to his footsteps on the staircase before  
turning back to Baltus, Katrina and Ichabod.

"Where is your wife, Master Van Tassel?" she asked, noticing Lady  
Van Tassel's absence.

"She felt the need to go and get a breath of fresh air," Baltus  
murmered.

"Ah." Beth nodded in understanding. "All right, my love. I know this  
is very upsetting for your stomach, but we must give you another  
dose."

Ichabod opened his dark eyes at her voice, and cringed as his head  
throbbed with pain from the candlelight in the room. Beth poured a  
spoonful of the green liquid, and Katrina touched Ichabod's lips  
gently with her fingertips. "Constable, we'll need you to take  
another bit of medicine down." She whispered, and Ichabod obediently  
opened his mouth. Beth gave the concotion to Ichabod, and watched as  
he nearly spit it out.

"Oh no," Katrina chuckled, clasping a handkerchief to his  
mouth. "Every drop."

Ichabod whimpered, finally forcing the medicine down, gasping once  
he finished swallowing. Almost immediately, he began to vomit into  
the basin, though he only brought up a bit of yellowish liquid due  
to the fact that he hadn't eaten anything solid in quite some time.

"My poor dear." Beth clucked her tongue. "The winter fever can be  
quite tricky in this way." She smoothed his forehead while he  
heaved, and rubbed his back when he'd finished.

Young Masbath and about five other servants came upstairs, carrying  
the large white bathtub. Baltus stepped aside to allow them room to  
enter, and watched as they set the tub over in the corner. Beth  
walked over to feel the water, and nodded respectfully at  
them. "Thank you." She urged them all out of the room again,  
including Baltus.

"Katrina, as your stepmother is out for the moment, would you mind  
if I bathed him?" she asked.

Katrina was now a bright shade of crimson. "N-no, of course not."

"Oh my dear, please don't be embarrassed." Beth laughed heartily.

"But…I…" Katrina cleared her throat, and smiled finally. "I'm sorry.  
I will help, Mrs. Killian."

Beth touched her shoulder and the two of them began the process of  
removing Ichabod's sweat-soaked clothing. Ichabod hung limply in  
their arms with fever, hardly realizing exactly what was going on.  
Just as they'd thrown his clothes into a heap on the floor, the door  
to the room opened, and Lady Van Tassel stood watching them. Both  
women glanced up, startled by the sudden noise, and then stared at  
each other.

"Oh…your…your husband said you had gone out, Lady Van Tassel…" Beth  
stuttered, surprised that the woman had returned so quickly from her  
walk.

"Out? No, no, I was gathering herbs from the garden in the back. I  
just needed to catch a breath of fresh air, and did not need to go  
far." She turned to Katrina, her lips curling into a rather forced  
smile.

Katrina had one hand on Ichabod's bare arm, and was giving her  
stepmother a rather suspicious look. "Well…we'll take care of this,  
stepmother," Katrina promised, her voice shockingly strong despite  
how she felt inside.

Lady Van Tassel smiled again. "Nonsense. The both of you have done  
your duties, and I will take over. Go on then." She waved her hand  
towards them, and Beth took Katrina's arm, leading the younger woman  
away. As soon as they were out of the room, Katrina pulled Beth into  
the far corner of the hallway, and the two of them squatted down.

"Katrina, dear, what's the matter?" Beth whispered, as Katrina  
leaned forward so that their foreheads were practically touching.

"I believe my stepmother wishes some evil to befall Ichabod," she  
replied, her voice wavering slightly. Beth's green eyes raised in  
alarm.

"What? Whatever gave you such a ridiculous idea?"

Katrina made movements with her hands to show that she wanted Beth  
to keep her voice as quiet as possible. "I'm not sure if I'm right,  
Mrs. Killian, but one night when I took over for my stepmother to  
watch Ichabod, she had piled too many blankets over him. His fever  
went up quite a bit after that, and he was as dry as paper…"

Beth bowed her head, rubbing her temples with her fingers. "Katrina,  
I am certain Lady Van Tassel would never do such a horrible thing to  
Constable Crane…not a guest in her house!"

Katrina narrowed her eyes. "I'm not telling you this is absolutely  
certain, but I have my thoughts." She strained her ears to listen  
for any sign of abnormalities coming from the sickroom, and then  
turned back to Beth. "Just to make sure I'm not jumping to  
conclusions, I say we sit right here and wait until my stepmother  
finishes. If nothing out of the ordinary happens, then I will  
dismiss what happened prior." Both women sat down on the ground, and  
drew their knees up to their chests to make more room.

Lady Van Tassel meanwhile, gently bathed Ichabod's naked body with  
the warm water, squeezing a bit of it over his chest and neck. He  
groaned softly, sliding down into the tub. The mistress of the  
mansion, took out a small phial from the pocket of her gown, and  
held it before her eyes. Inside, it was filled with a light purple  
liquid. She sneered, popping the cork from the phial, and spilled  
the sweet scented concoction into the clear bathwater, resisting the  
urge to laugh out loud.

In the hallway, Katrina and Beth sat looking at each other with  
hopeful eyes. Suddenly, they were startled by a series of violent  
sneezes. "HEHISHHHUH! ESHHHHHHUH! HEHISHHHHH! ESHHHHHUH  
HEHISHHHHHUH! ESHHHHHUH! HEHESHHHHH!"

Katrina and Beth practically fell over each other in the attempt to  
stand, and they dashed into Ichabod's room. They stared in horror as  
Ichabod's body lurched forward in the water, sending it cascading  
over the sides and onto the floor. "HEHISHHHHUH! ESHHHHUH!  
HEHISHHHHHUH! ESHHHHHHH!" His eyes were shut tight, and his face  
turning slowly red from the force of the explosions. Katrina fell to  
his side, ignoring the water that soaked her stockings.

"Ichabod! Oh Ichabod…" she gasped.

"What happened?!" Beth cried. "Constable, calm down…calm down, love…  
try to breathe…"

"HEHISHHHHHUH! ESHHHHHH! ESHHHHHUH! HEHISHHHHUH! ESHHHUH!" He  
replied with another string of harsh sneezes.

"I don't know," Lady Van Tassel told them, panic in her eyes. "One  
moment he seemed to be resting easily as I washed him. Then I  
thought his breathing seemed a bit harsh, so I put some lavendar oil  
in his bathwater..."

Katrina's face turned a shade paler than usual. "L-lavender? You  
used lavender? How could you…you KNEW it bothered him! You were with  
us when we gave him the first steambath!" her voice shook with fury.  
Beth hurried over to Katrina's side and touched her shoulder.

Lady Van Tassel covered her mouth with her hands and gasped. "Oh no!  
I completely forgot! Quickly, get him out of there!" Her eyes were  
full of panick. "Mrs. Killian, go down and fetch the servants for  
me, dear…tell them to bring clear water...NOW!" she turned towards  
Katrina. "Oh, what have I done? Katrina, love help me…" she hissed,  
and Katrina, still giving her stepmother a suspicious look, helped  
raise Ichabod out of the bath. He was still sneezing hard, and had  
now started to scratch his skin.

"The contact from the lavender is making him itch…" Katrina  
breathed, attempting to scratch Ichabod's back for him.

"HEHISHHHHUH! ESHHHHUH HEHISHHHHUH! ESHHHHHH!" Ichabod gasped for  
air, leaning limply on Lady Van Tassel's shoulder as Katrina fetched  
a robe to wrap around him. They led him out into the hall, and  
watched as servants scurried to and fro, fetching this or that.

"We shall bring him to my quarters," Lady Van Tassel told  
Katrina. "Until we can air his room out."

"Katrina…" Ichabod suddenly gasped, sliding to the floor in a dead  
faint. Katrina screeched as he fell, and Lady Van Tassel watched the  
man, a hint of almost grim satisfaction in her dark eyes. Young  
Masbath dashed up the stairs at that moment, and stopped short of  
the hallway when he saw his master lying on the floor half-covered  
in a bath robe.

"Constable," Lady Van Tassel called, patting Ichabod's cheek with  
the palm of her hand. "Constable Crane!"

The servants carried the tub, now fully cleaned and refilled, up the  
stairs. They nearly tripped over Young Masbath who moved out of the  
way, and brought the bath to Lady Van Tassel's room. Katrina helped  
heave Ichabod to his feet, and they half-carried, half-dragged him  
to the other room, placing him into the bath.

"Oh my goodness," Beth gasped when she joined them again, covering  
her mouth with her hands.

"Mint," Katrina spoke up at last. "Mint leaves. It will overpower  
the effect of the lavender…"

Lady Van Tassel stared at the girl. "Then for heaven's sake,  
Katrina, go!" the woman shouted, and Katrina dashed downstairs. She  
hurried into the kitchen and went over to a miniature chest of  
drawers by the china cabinet. She pulled the bottom drawer open, and  
pulled out a medium sized wooden box. Engraved in gold lettering on  
the front were the words "Elisabeth Van Tassel".

Katrina felt her eyes tear a bit as she read her mother's name, but she blinked them  
back once she opened it. The box contained several compartments  
filled with tiny canvas bags. Little parchment labels were tied with  
twine around each of the bags, telling what each contained. Katrina  
surveyed the contents, and finally found the bag that contained a  
few pinches of mint leaves, and she took a couple out.

Katrina could hear her stepmother and Beth's voices from upstairs  
while they aided Ichabod, and she quickly ran back up the  
steps. "Here." She panted, presenting the mint leaves to the midwife  
who nodded.

"Good, very good." Beth took one of the leaves and split it a  
little, squeezing out a dark green fluid. A strong but cool odor  
filled the room, causing Young Masbath to grimace.

Ichabod lay in the bath again, a thin layer of sweat covering his  
brow. Beth knelt down beside the tub, and held the mint leaf under  
Ichabod's nose. She waved it back and forth, trying to release the  
scent as much as she could. "Please wake up," Katrina begged,  
smoothing Ichabod's messy black hair with her fingers. "Wake for us,  
love."

Beth looked at Lady Van Tassel, who knelt on the opposite side of  
the tub, and then back down at Ichabod. "His nose is twitching."  
Young Masbath suddenly whispered, stepping forward and peering  
closely at his master.

Ichabod's eyes fluttered open at that moment, and he moaned softly.  
Everyone sighed with relief.

"My poor dear, I am so sorry." Lady Van Tassel apologized. "I was  
foolish to have done such a thing."

Katrina caressed Ichabod's cheek with her fingertips, thanking Beth  
gratefully. "It is you we should be thanking, love." Beth  
chuckled. "Had you not mentioned the mint."

Katrina smiled. "I only learned from the best." She complimented,  
and it was now the midwife's turn to blush.

"Thank you." Beth told her thoughtfully, before standing and  
smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt. "I believe he has been in the  
bath long enough. Fetch me towels, Young Masbath, and Katrina, a  
fresh nightshirt if you will.We'll get him into bed right away."

Lady Van Tassel stood also, glaring at Ichabod once Katrina and Beth  
had left the room. "Damnation," She cursed quietly. This was now her  
third attempt to kill Constable Crane, and yet again it had failed.  
Ichabod sniffed and let out another violent,

"HEHISHHHHUH! ESHHHHHUH!" The lavender scent was still in his  
nostrils, despite the mint.

"Blessings." She grumbled, watching as Young Masbath returned with a  
couple of towels. Katrina soon followed with the nightshirt, and  
Beth with an extra couple of pillows. The group helped Ichabod out  
of the tub, holding onto his arms as they dried him off. Beth pulled  
the fresh nightshirt over Ichabod's head, and they tucked him under  
the covers in the enormous four-poster.

"His fever has risen again," Beth sighed, feeling Ichabod's  
forehead. "With the little attack he just had, that is not  
surprising. Though at least it is not as warm near his chest, so the  
bath did help."

"HEHISHHHHUH! ESHHHHHUH!" Ichabod sneezed again.

"Blessings." Beth told him with a soft smile, wiping his nose dry  
with her clean handkerchief.

"Bless you, sir." Young Masbath added, looking at Katrina who stood  
beside him.

"Eh…heh…." Ichabod squeezed his nostrils shut with his fingers,  
trying his best to hold the sneezes back.

"No, love." Beth pulled his hand away.

"Heh…eh…" Ichabod sniffed, cursing himself silently as the sneezes  
played with him.

"Oh dear." Katrina laughed lightly.

Beth placed the handkerchief over Ichabod's mouth and nose once  
again, her bright green eyes sparkling with amusement. "Let them  
come, dear." she soothed, wishing almost that she had a feather or  
something to help the sneezes along. Katrina smoothed Ichabod's hair  
back, waiting patiently.

"HEHISHHHHUH! ESHHHHHHUH!" Ichabod finally exploded into the linen  
square, his eyes squeezing shut. Beth wiped his nose dry, setting  
the handkerchief on the nightstand.

"I'm afraid he'll be doing that for a little while now." she told  
Katrina and Lady Van Tassel who were watching the scene through  
sympathetic eyes. "At least until the scent leaves his nose." she  
shook her head, as Lady Van Tassel sighed.

"How foolish I was," the older woman breathed. "Imagine what could  
have happened had we not gotten the poor man out in time…"

Beth smiled fondly. "It was an honest mistake, I am sure." She  
turned to Katrina, who's fists were clenched at her sides, a  
disproving look still on her face. "Now…I must return home and cook  
lunch for my family. Dear me, I do not trust my husband with the  
stove." she chuckled, packing up her things.

Lady Van Tassel nodded respectfully to the midwife, her dark eyes  
flashing. "Thank you, once again. We certainly do appreciate your  
aid."

Beth beamed proudly before saying goodbye to Katrina, reassuring her  
with a squeeze on the shoulder and heading downstairs to the front  
door. When the midwife was gone, Lady Van Tassel turned to her  
stepdaughter.

"Check on the servant's progress in Constable Crane's quarters,  
stepdaughter." she ordered calmly.

Katrina hesitated, but the piercing stare her stepmother was giving  
her made her quite uncomfortable, so she turned and left quickly. 


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

When Ichabod's temperature finally broke, nearly two weeks  
had gone by. "That I find hard to believe," Ichabod admitted as  
Katrina sat feeding him bland oatmeal. She smiled, dipping the spoon  
into the bowl.

"Yes, time does go quickly when you are in bed. But my  
father told me we may bring you downstairs to the parlour this  
evening if you are up to it." She gave him another mouthful.

Eventually, Ichabod turned his head, letting her know he had  
finished. Katrina sighed, setting the bowl on the nightstand. Young  
Masbath stood in "his corner" by the window, his hands behind his  
back. He rarely left his masters side during the ordeal, and was  
ready to give any assistance.

"I think I will be." The young Constable replied, smiling  
softly, before coughing hard into his fist. Immediately, Katrina  
began rubbing his back in gentle circles, her forehead crinkling  
with concern.

"Are you all right, Ichabod?" she asked, glancing at young  
Masbath with wide eyes. Once Ichabod composed himself, he nodded  
weakly.

"Yes, thank you." His cheeks turned pink when he gazed into  
her eyes, but for some reason he could not break it.

"Do you need anything, sir?" the servant boy spoke up,  
rocking on his heels a bit. Ichabod shook his head, his face  
suddenly screwing up.

"HEHISHHH! ESHHUH!" he sneezed loudly, catching them in his  
hands just in time. Katrina jumped a bit, but then chuckled as she  
stroked his raven-colored hair.

"Bless." She whispered in his ear, just as young Masbath  
fetched a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to his master.

"I couldn't," Ichabod croaked wearily, sniffling.

Young Masbath s hook his head. "Go on, sir. It's clean, and  
I've got more."

Ichabod took the piece of square linen cloth  
gratefully. "Thank you," he told the lad before blowing his nose. A  
moment later, there was a knock on the door. "HEHISHHHUH!" Ichabod  
sneezed again just as Katrina called,

"Come in!" she turned back to her patient, clucking her  
tongue. "Blessings."

Baltus entered, looking more cheerful than he had in  
weeks. "How do you feel, Constable? Would you care to join us in the  
parlour for tea?"

Ichabod finished wiping his nose and cleared his throat  
afterwards. "Yes I would. Though…" he paused, blushing again. "I may  
need some help getting up."

The older man nodded, glancing at his daughter. "Of course,  
sir. Katrina, go to the kitchen and help your stepmother. I'll be  
with you in a moment." He turned to young Masbath who continued to  
stand in the corner, and before he opened his mouth, the boy was at  
Ichabod's side in an instant.

"Well! I see young Masbath is quite willing to take on the  
task. Will you be all right with the two of you?"

Coughing, Ichabod nodded. "Yes, thank you."

Baltus turned and left the room, leaving the invalid and the  
servant to their own devices. "Whenever you are ready, sir." young  
Masbath spoke, and Ichabod reached for his arm. The boy allowed his  
master to grip it firmly, standing very still. Ichabod swung his  
legs over the side of the bed, cringing as his head spun.

"On the count of three, lad." he grunted. "One…two…three…"  
he forced himself upright, quickly steadying against the boy's small  
body. Young Masbath nearly stumbled sideways with the extra weight,  
but caught himself on the bedpost. "Fetch my robe if you will,"  
Ichabod told him softly, grasping the edge of the bed with his frail  
hands. Young Masbath hurried to the press, pulling it out, and  
wrapped the robe around his elder. "Thank you. Now…take my arm  
again, please…my legs feel a bit odd still."

Young Masbath held tightly onto Ichabod's arm, encouring his  
master to take small steps. It took a bit of time, but they managed  
to reach the staircase. This is ridiculous,' Ichabod thought,  
feeling out of breath, feeling a tingle on the inside of his nose.  
He stopped, closing his eyes.

"Sir?" the lad asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Are you all  
right?"

"I think I have to sneeze." Ichabod explained, rubbing his  
nose with the back of his hand.

"All right. I've got you, sir."

"Thank..eh…eh…ESHHHHHUH! HUHESHHHH! Excuse me." He cleared  
his throat, massaging his temples. "Thank you."

The boy smiled. "Bless you. You're welcome, sir. Are you  
sure you want to go downstairs yet?"

Ichabod smiled at him weakly, nodding. "I think so." He took  
a deep breath, and with one hand on the rail and the other around  
young Masbath's shoulders, they managed to make it down without  
either of them getting hurt. Sarah happened to walk by at that  
instant with a feather duster in her hand, and she dropped it at the  
sight of Ichabod.

"Oh!" she gasped, her lips pulling into a brilliant smile,  
grateful to see the Constable on his feet at last. Ichabod smiled  
back, feeling his chest tighten and coughed a bit. "It is good to  
see you awake!" Sarah added, taking Ichabod's other arm and aiding  
young Masbath in the treck to the parlour. A warm fire crackled in  
the fireplace when they entered, and Baltus sat in the overstuffed  
chair drank from a steaming mug. "Ah!" he exclaimed when he saw them  
enter, and watched the servants lead his guest over to the couch.  
Ichabod flinched in pain as they lifted his legs onto the cushions,  
allowing him to lay down.

"Would you like a blanket, sir?" young Masbath asked as  
Sarah placed a couple of large pillows under the young man's head.

"Yes please." He replied, feeling still slightly chilled,  
though not feverish as he had the night before. The boy dashed off,  
and Sarah retreated to the kitchen, returning moments later with a  
mug of tea and Katrina at her heels.

"Thank you." He took the mug, lifting his head so he could  
blow on the liquid and sip it after a moment. It soothed his raw  
throat instantly, and warmed his stomach to the point where he felt  
his eyelids drooping with sleepiness again. Once everyone (including  
Lady Van Tassel, who sat in a chair by the far corner so no one  
could see the expression of deep loathing on her face), talked in  
hushed voices, mindful of Ichabod.

"So, Constable. When do you feel you will be able to return  
to your investigations?"

Everyone turned to the voice hidden by the shadows, and  
Katrina tensed a little at her stepmother's presence. She fought the  
urge to reach for Ichabod's hand, and fiddled with the braclet on  
her wrist instead.

Ichabod thought for a moment. "Hopefully tomorrow, if I am  
feeling stronger." He turned to Baltus, who sat staring at him. "I  
am sorry to have been such a burden, Mr. Van Tassel. I am sure you  
are quite tired of me." He broke into another coughing fit, wheezing  
afterwards. Katrina stood and walked over to the couch, rubbing his  
shoulder.

"Shhhh." She soothed, taking his mug so he could make  
himself more comfortable.

"Nonsense, Constable Crane. This was not your fault. We are  
just glad that you are starting to recover at last. You had us quite  
worried for a spell!"

Ichabod managed a smile, which was soon replaced by a frown  
as his breath hitched in a pending sneeze. "Eh…ESHHHHUH! HUHESHHHH!  
ESHHHHHISH! ESHHHHUH!" he groaned as his head throbbed, and he felt  
his cheeks burning with embarrassment. "Ex..eh…huh…CHUUUUUH!" he  
kept his nose and mouth covered, preparing for more.

"Goodness!" Katrina gasped, shaking her head. "Bless you!"

"Uh…CHUUUUUH! EtCHUUUUH!" Ichabod looked at Katrina  
helplessly, sniffling.

"Bless you again." She smiled, turning to Sarah. "You did  
not use anything with a lavender scent down here, did you?" she  
asked curiously.

"No, I do not think so." The maid replied, chewing on her  
bottom lip.

"Uh…eh…ESHHHHHHUH! HUHESHHHHH!" Ichabod sneezed again,  
trying to sniff but finding his nose completely clogged.

"Oh dear. Perhaps we should get you back to bed?" Katrina  
asked, fetching a clean hanky and handing it to him. Ichabod shook  
his head, blowing his nose.

"No, thank you, I'm all…eh…CHUUSHHH! I'm all right." He  
lowered his hands when his nose finally stopped itching, and he  
rubbed it with the hanky.

Katrina turned to her father. "So…have their been any other…  
murders since the last incident?" she asked, not wanting to mention  
young Masbath's father's name for fear of upsetting the child.

Baltus shook his head. "Shockingly enough, no. I would have  
expected the horseman to take advantage of Constable Crane's time of  
illness and use that to terrorize more of our villagers. But  
clearly, as devilish a creature he is, there seems to be a bit of  
mercy in him."

Lady Van Tassel made a small "tuh" from her chair, rolling  
her eyes.

"What was that, my dear?" Baltus asked, glancing at her over  
his shoulder.

"Mmm? Nothing, Baltus, nothing." She forced a smile. "I will  
be right back…I must replenish our kitchen herb supply from the  
garden."

Sarah stood. "Let me do that for you, Madame. There is no  
need for you to be going out in this dreadful weather!"

Lady Van Tassel narrowed her eyes. "No, I will do it. Thank  
you, Sarah." She curtsied and left the room quickly, causing Katrina  
to crane her neck to watch the hem of her stepmother's green gown  
disappear around the corner.

"So—you mean to tell me—that there have been no other  
murders since that of Jonathan Masbath?" Ichabod asked, causing  
Katrina to close her eyes, and young Masbath to lower his head.

Baltus nodded. "Yes, that is what I am saying. It is very  
strange in deed."

"Mmm." Ichabod sniffled. "I should most certainly be back on  
my feet again tomorrow, if weather permits. Perhaps this is only the  
big breath before the plunge, if you understand me." He finished his  
tea, and handed the empty mug to Sarah.

Everyone was quiet after his comment, and only glanced at  
each other with worried expressions. The only sound in the room was  
of the crackling fire, and the late fall wind whipping against the  
glass window panes.

After a few awkward moments, Dr. Lancaster spoke up  
again. "So…that meeting tonight, Baltus—it will still be held at the  
same place at 5:00? I daresay, we're rather inclined for one."

Ichabod lifted his head, curiosity in his eyes. He said  
nothing, merely listened closely.

Baltus nodded. "As far as I am aware it is still occurring."

"Good."

Ichabod glanced at Young Masbath, who seemed to think  
nothing of this. The boy smiled back, fiddling with the cuff on his  
sleeve. He was about to inquire of the meeting's purpose when his  
breath caught in his chest, sending him into a fit of coughing.  
Everyone watched worriedly, Sarah dashing to fetch another mug of  
tea.

Katrina rubbed his back until he stopped, shaking her head  
while he downed must of the tea in three gulps.

"Perhaps you ought to return to bed," Baltus suggested. "It  
is much warmer upstairs."

Young Masbath hurried over to the couch, ready to give his  
new master a hand. Ichabod gratefully leaned on the boy, feeling  
weak as a kitten. "I'm sorry," he apologized, and the others shook  
their heads, promising that it was no trouble.

"Are you sure you do not need me to come with you?" Katrina  
asked, and Ichabod smiled softly at her.

"I think we'll be all right," he said, and Young Masbath  
gave Katrina a look that said, "He needs to be alone now, I think."

Katrina nodded, and Ichabod followed Young Masbath's lead  
out of the room. Ichabod paused at the bottom of the steps, looking  
wearily at them. "You can do it, sir," Young Masbath  
encouraged. "It's really not that far up."

Ichabod grasped onto the rail, and began to hoist his aching  
body up the steep stairs. Going down, he decided was certainly  
easier. When he finally reached the top, Young Masbath hurried ahead  
so he could open the door to his master's bedroom. Then he came back  
to take Ichabod's arm, and led him down the narrow hallway.

"Thank you," Ichabod whispered, and the small bed never  
looked more welcoming.

"It is no trouble, sir," Young Masbath insisted. Once  
Ichabod was under the covers and comfortable, he called the boy  
over.

"I'm just going to doze for an hour or so," he said. "I want  
you to wake me as soon as Mr. Van Tassel leaves the house for the  
meeting, because I feel it's something I need to investigate."

Young Masbath frowned deeply, looking worried. "I'm not sure  
if you're well enough to go outside yet," he said timidly, knowing  
just how cold it was. "Your fever only just broke, didn't it?"

Ichabod scowled a little. "I've lived alone for most of my  
life, Young Masbath. I think I can determine what is best for me."

Young Masbath looked down at his feet, and nodded slowly in  
understanding. Ichabod sighed, realizing he'd been a bit harsh.

"I apologize," he said quickly, "but this is important. I've  
been in bed for far too long as it is. I'm sure this…horseman…or  
whatever is out there, is out there, is getting restless, biding  
it's time to attack again. I want to be ready."

Young Masbath sighed. "I will wake you as you asked, sir."

"Good. Go downstairs and finish your tea, and as soon as  
they leave…"

"I know, sir." Young Masbath smiled, and Ichabod squeezed  
his shoulder warmly, before turning and closing his eyes. Young  
Masbath stood watching over his master until his breathing became  
even with sleep, and turned and headed downstairs into the parlor.  
Katrina and Sarah remained, but Lady Van Tassel had not returned  
yet.

"Is he asleep?" Katrina asked, and Young Masbath nodded when  
he sat back down.

"Yes."

She looked at Sarah. "Well, I am feeling awfully tired  
myself," she admitted. "I suppose it would not hurt to take a little  
rest before dinner."

"Do not trouble yourself about that, Miss Katrina," Sarah  
promised. "Go and rest. I will help your stepmother with the meal  
tonight."

Katrina smiled, and, after planning a small kiss on Young  
Masbath's head, made her way to her quarters.

When Baltus Van Tassel left for the meeting an hour or so  
later, Young Masbath quickly excused himself to check on Ichabod.  
Lady Van Tassel, much to their surprise, was still not back from her  
garden, and Sarah was beginning to fear for her safety. "Perhaps  
I'll go and look for her?" she gulped, and Young Masbath nodded.

"I hope she's all right," he said, and, after Sarah grabbed  
her cloak and dashed through the main door, he hurried up to  
Ichabod's bedroom. "Sir?" he called, dashing to the side of the bed.  
Ichabod grunted in his sleep, pulling his blankets closer to his  
neck. "Sir, wake up." The boy gave the constable a gentle shake, and  
Ichabod turned to face him.

"Is it morning already?" he croaked, his face still too pale  
for the boy's liking.

"No, sir," Young Masbath said, smiling. "You told me to wake  
you when Mr. Van Tassel left for the meeting, didn't you?"

Ichabod quickly sat up. "Yes, yes, that's right. He just  
left?"

Young Masbath nodded. "Just now. And Sarah went to try and  
find Lady Van Tassel, because she's not come back from her gardens.  
It's been over an hour, sir."

Ichabod wet his lips, his eyes narrowed in curiosity. "All  
right. Wait for me in the hall, if you will," he added, and Young  
Masbath did as he was told. Ichabod quickly changed into warmer  
clothing, and put on his thick overcoat. After putting on his boots,  
he slowly shuffled into the hall, and Young Masbath helped him to  
the stair rail again.

"Something doesn't smell right, sir," Young Masbath  
whispered, as they tiptoed down the stairs. "The hairs on the back  
of my neck are prickling."

"I know," Ichabod replied softly. "I don't feel right  
either. It is very fishy in deed that Lady Van Tassel has been gone  
for over an hour in her garden; it's much too cold to stay outdoors  
very long."

"Are you sure you want to go outdoors yet, sir? I'm afraid  
you might relapse."

Ichabod patted his head, as they reached the entrance. "I  
insist, Young Masbath, that I am quite all right to take on the  
task. However I think a stop to Mr. Killian's to borrow Gunpowder is  
in order…I don't think my legs are ready to take the walk to the  
meeting house just yet."

"Good idea, sir." Young Masbath agreed, and braced himself  
for the ice cold night.

"Where is Katrina?" Ichabod asked, as his breath was almost  
taken away by the chill in the air.

"She went to take a rest before dinner," Young Masbath  
replied.

"I'm glad," Ichabod said. "She is definitely in need of one,  
poor girl."

They listened as their footsteps crunched upon the frost-  
bitten ground, cracking in half dead twigs and leaves that lay  
scattered about. Mr. Killian, when they arrived, was overjoyed to  
see Ichabod awake and alert. "I've been worried, Constable Crane,"  
he said, bringing them to his barn where he kept the horses. "My  
wife has been giving me reports about your condition for several  
days now. She was fearing you weren't going to make it. But you  
clearly have some hidden strength in you."

Ichabod raised an eyebrow, and shook his head. "I'm not  
fully back to my old self yet," he admitted, "but I am feeling much  
better, thank you."

"Young Masbath," Mr. Killian began, and the boy looked up,  
surprised. "Would you be needing a horse as well?"

Ichabod looked down, and the boy shook his head. "No."

"Perhaps you could share Gunpowder with the Constable? He  
might need support to stay on the horse."

Ichabod started to protest, and Young Masbath tugged his  
sleeve lightly. "I think it's safer, sir. You don't want to go  
falling off and get hurt."

Ichabod sighed, defeated. "All right, then."

It took no time at all to get Gunpowder saddled and ready,  
and Ichabod, with the help of Mr. Killian, was able to mount the  
horse. He clung to Gunpowder's reins, feeling as though he were  
going to slide off the other side. When Young Masbath mounted, he  
put his arms around his master's waist, clutching the reins. "Good  
luck, sir," Mr. Killian called, and after thanking the blacksmith,  
the two steered Gunpowder in the direction of the meeting house.

"Oh dear," Young Masbath giggled, as the horse began to move  
in the opposite direction. "No, the other way," he  
ordered. "Gunpowder, no, not that way!"

"He has a terrible sense of direction, that horse," Mr.  
Killian laughed, and pulled the reins so he could point the horse  
where they wanted to go. "Get on there!" he slapped Gunpowder's  
hindquarters, and with a soft whinnie, the animal began to trot on.

"We'll need to be silent as mice," Ichabod told Young  
Masbath, when they approached the meeting house from behind. The  
last thing they wanted was to come trotting past the windows, and  
attract attention from the attendees.

"I understand, sir," Ichabod whispered, and once they were  
standing close by, Young Masbath dismounted first. He held tightly  
onto Gunpowder's reins, stroking the horse's nose as Ichabod  
struggled to dismount himself. "Shall I stay here with the horse,  
sir?" the boy whispered, and Ichabod nodded.

"Yes," he whispered back. "I'll come fetch you." Coughing  
lightly, he tiptoed down the small crest of ground, and slid along  
the wall of the cabin until he reached the main window. He peeked  
very carefully through the window, and found the four men: Mr. Van  
Tassel, Magistrate Philips, Reverend Steenwyck, and of course, the  
Notary Hardenbrook, appearing to be arguing amongst themselves. Mr.  
Van Tassel was listening to Reverend Steenwyck, and the Magistrate  
was waving his arms in exhasperation, shaking his flask of whisky.

Ichabod saw the Magistrate hoist his briefcase into his  
hand, and the other men continued arguing, ignoring their forth  
member as he stormed towards the door. Ichabod glanced over his  
shoulder at Young Masbath, and motioned with his hand for him to  
come. Then he heard the door open and shut, and watched as Philips  
began loading his bag into his donky cart, breathing heavily due to  
his being horribly out of shape.

Ichabod and Young Masbath mounted the horse once again, and  
took off after the Magistrate, trying to keep hidden, but not  
wanting to loose sight of him either. Young Masbath clung to his  
master, shivering in the cold, and watched as his breath made white  
puffs when it came out.

"Where are you running to, Magistrate Philips?" Ichabod  
finally called, when they caught up to the pudy man, who jumped with  
alarm.

He whirled around, clutching something unidentifiable to his  
chest. "Damn you, Crane!" He snapped, and was startled to see the  
boy approaching from behind his master.

"You had a mind to help me, perhaps?" Ichabod asked,  
shivering and rubbing his arms to try and keep warm.

"Yes, but it has put me in mortal dread of…"

"Of what?" Ichabod wished he could sit; his joints were  
aching horribly, and his chest was starting to tighten up again.

"Of powers in which there is no defense." Magistrate Philips  
fingered what he'd been clutching, and Ichabod reached for it.

"Ah, I see. And how did you know the widow winship was with  
child?"

Philips looked startled by the question; the Constable had  
been dreadfully ill for over two weeks. How did he remember?

"She—told me," he replied.

"Then I deduce you are the father," Ichabod responded, and  
the Magistrate raised his eyes.

"I'm not the father," he insisted.

"Did she tell you the name of the child's father, then?"

"Yes, she did." The Magistrate removed his wig, and mopped  
his sweat-soaked head quickly, before replacing it. "She came to me  
advice, as the town magistrate, to protect the life of her child. I  
am bound by my oath of office to keep the secret, but…"

"Do you believe the father killed her?"

Magistrate Philips blinked. "The horseman killed her, sir!"

Frustrated, Ichabod snatched what the Magistrate had been  
desparately clutching, and Young Masbath peered closely to see what  
it was. "Let go!" Philips demanded angrily.

"What is this, thing?" Ichabod asked, fingering the iron and  
turning it over in his palm.

"It is my talisman that protects me from the horseman,"  
Philips explained, and Young Masbath looked interested.

"How does it work, sir?" he asked, and Ichabod gave the boy  
a warning look.

"You're a Magistrate, and you have your head filled with  
such nonsense!" Ichabod exclaimed. "Now tell me the name of…"

Young Masbath suddenly let out a yell of alarm, and it was  
then Ichabod heard the hoofbeats. "Catch Gunpowder before he gets  
too far away!" he shouted, and when he turned, he realized Gunpowder  
was still standing stationary. "What in the name of…" he turned back  
towards Magistrate Philips, and what caught his eye made his heart  
nearly stop in mid beat. A black horse was galloping furiously  
towards them. It's rider, dressed in a black cloak, was…headless. A  
sword was raised high, glistening in the moonlight, and, though  
Magistrate Philips tried to run for it, the horseman was too fast  
for him. A single slice of the sword was all it took, and the man's  
head fell off of his neck, leaving the rest of the body to quiver.

Young Masbath, too terrified to scream, stood watching as  
Ichabod stumbled back and fell, trying to steer cleer of the rolling  
head. Just as he spread his legs outward, the head landed right  
between them, the horror-filled eyes staring at him. Ichabod felt  
sick to his stomach—he felt dizzy, as though he were going to pass  
out.

The horseman made a wide circle, and, narrowly missing Young  
Masbath, dashed towards Ichabod. "Sir, look out!" Young Masbath  
shrieked, and the horseman stuck the tip of it's weapon into the tip  
of the Magistrate's head. Ichabod gulped as the black stallion let  
out a screeching whinnie, and turned, galloping away into the  
distance.

Young Masbath quickly tied Gunpowder to one of the trunks of  
a nearby tree, and dashed towards Ichabod. "Sir, sir, are you all  
right?" he cried, kneeling down. Ichabod sat very rigid, his mouth  
hanging open. "Sir?"

Ichabod's eyes rolled into his head, and a moment later, he  
collapsed. 


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"I can't believe you let him out in this weather when he's  
just recovering, Young Masbath!" Katrina cried in alarm, once  
Ichabod was brought back to the Van Tassel mansion, shivering  
uncontrollably. "I thought you had more sense!"

"I tried to convince him to say, Miss Katrina, but he  
wouldn't listen to me," Young Masbath sobbed, as both of them  
brought Ichabod upstairs. He hadn't said a single word since he'd  
come out of his faint, "in shock" as Young Masbath explained. They  
eased him into bed after taking off his coat and boots, and Katrina  
smoothed Ichabod's forehead.

"Well, thank goodness his fever hasn't returned," she  
breathed with relief. "Ichabod, just relax," she insisted, and he  
stared at her.

"Away, away," he whispered, and Katrina blinked, looking at  
Young Masbath. "Go…way…please, I…I…"

"Miss Katrina," Young Masbath whispered, coming to take  
Katrina's elbow. "Perhaps we should let him alone for now. He's in  
quite a state."

Ichabod was still staring blankly into space, clutching the  
talisman that had once belonged to the now dead Magistrate Philips.  
Katrina pulled the blankets more tightly around Ichabod, and, after  
smoothing his bangs away from his eyes, left with Young Masbath.  
She shut the door quietly behind them, and they leaned against the  
wall.

"What happened?" she asked, and the boy gulped.

"The…horseman," he whispered. "The horseman came. He…he  
killed Magistrate Philips."

Katrina closed her eyes. "And has your stepmother or Sarah  
come back yet?" Young Masbath asked, after a few moments of awkward  
silence. Katrina shook her head.

"No," she replied. "I don't believe they have. Where did  
Sarah go?"

"To find your stepmother," Young Masbath explained. "She was  
worried because she'd been gone for so long."

"I was wondering where they disappeared to," Katrina thought  
out loud, as she heard Ichabod coughing from behind the door. She  
sighed softly, and followed Young Masbath down the steps. "Perhaps I  
should start dinner."

"I'll help," Young Masbath offered, and they entered the  
kitchen.

Lady Van Tassel did not appear until long after Baltus had  
returned from the meeting, and at that point in time, they had  
already sat down and eaten supper. "Where were you, my dear?" Baltus  
asked, as his wife sat down at the table, accepting a platter  
Katrina had saved for her.

"I caught up with an old friend and lost track of time," she  
explained hastily, and Young Masbath frowned, helping clean up the  
dirty dishes. "I did not mean to make you wait."

"Have you seen Sarah?" Katrina asked, offering Young Masbath  
a piece of ginger bread. Lady Van Tassel stopped sipping her cup of  
tea, and raised her eyes.

"Oh," she said softly, "I'm afraid I haven't. She's gone  
out?"

"To look for you," Young Masbath said, after taking a bite  
of his cake.

"I hope the horseman has not gotten her," Lady Van Tassel  
said in a voice that was a little too calm for Katrina's liking. She  
started to say something else, but Baltus raised his hand.

"I am sure Sarah is just fine," he insisted. "How is  
Constable Crane?"

"He is ill in bed again, father," Katrina replied  
sadly. "I'm afraid Magistrate Philips was murdered tonight by the  
horseman, and Ichabod and Young Masbath were both there to witness  
it."

"Yes, that is a dreadful loss," Baltus said gravely. "We  
found the body on our way home from the meeting, and it will be  
buried in the morrow."

"I am afraid I have a bit of a headache tonight, Baltus,"  
Lady Van Tassel said quietly, and he looked at her. "I think I will  
retire early. Good night, dears," she added, kissing her husband  
first and then Katrina, and patting Young Masbath on the head. They  
watched as she walked away, and Baltus looked at Katrina.

"Perhaps you ought to retire early as well, my dear," he  
suggested.

Katrina wanted to protest, to say that she was not the least  
bit tired having napped most of the day, but she decided some time  
alone to think would not hurt. She looked at Young Masbath, who was  
still clearing the table. "I'll clean the dishes, Miss Katrina," he  
promised, and, after kissing him on the forehead, she nodded.

"All right."

"Good night," Baltus told her, watching as Katrina followed  
her stepmother's wake.

Ichabod remained wide awake and fearful for the rest of the  
night. What he had seen earlier that evening was engraved in his  
head; he kept repeating the incident over and over and over. So it  
was in deed true, the…headless horseman. It was not a myth, a  
superstistion, as he had so frequently told the villagers. Yet…did  
he really believe what he saw?

"After all," Ichabod thought, shivering a little and  
bundling his bare feet in his blankets, "I have been ill. Perhaps my  
mind was playing tricks; perhaps my mind tricked me into thinking  
the rider was headless."

_Why did the rider want to take only the head and not the  
entire body?_ A small voice spoke inside of his mind, and he  
blinked. "I don't know," he replied out loud, still clutching the  
Magistrate's talisman. Why he hadn't let it go, he couldn't exactly  
say. He wished he had not given Katrina his cardinal toy; he wanted  
to see the tiny bird hopping into and out of it's cage again. But at  
the same time, the thrilled smile on her face when he presented the  
gift to her made parting with it all the more worthwhile. "To see  
her smile is worth a thousand cardinal disks," he thought to  
himself, resting his head back on the pillows. "But this horseman…I…  
couldn't have seen…it's not logical, not logical!"

_Nothing in Sleepy Hollow is logical._

"Not…logical," Ichabod whispered, closing his eyes. "Not…  
logical." He eventually drifted off to sleep, listening to the howl  
of the wind against his closed window.

The next morning dawned grey as usual; the town of Sleepy  
Hollow never seemed to be bathed in much sunlight during the autumn  
and winter months. Young Masbath sat by the window of his quarters,  
leaning his chin in his palm, as he watched the villagers preparing  
themselves for another day. He himself had fallen asleep almost  
immediately after cleaning up, and awoke before dawn.

Young Masbath yawned quietly, and, after dressing quickly,  
decided to go upstairs and see if his Master was awake yet. The Van  
Tassel mansion was still quiet, which probably meant that the rest  
of the family were still sound asleep. But he heard a soft humming  
down the hall as he reached the top of the stairs, and realized it  
was coming from Katrina's bedroom. He smiled, walking in the  
opposite direction.

Very softly, the boy opened the door to Ichabod's room, his  
heart nearly stopping in mid beat as it creaked. The room was dim,  
so he had to squint to see what state his master was in. Ichabod was  
lying on his side, his back to him, and appeared to be sleeping  
soundly.

"Young Masbath?"

It took the boy all the strength he had not to cry out in  
alarm at the sudden voice behind him. He whirled around, and saw  
Katrina standing by the railing.

"Miss Katrina," he whispered, clutching his heart,  
alarmed. "You gave me a start…"

"What are you doing up so early?"

Young Masbath bit his lip. "I don't know," he admitted, and  
she stroked his head.

"Has Ichabod woken yet?"

Young Masbath shook his head vigorously. "No, he hasn't. But  
he seems to be sleeping. I don't want to disturb him."

"Well, sit up here until he wakes, and make sure he's all  
right. I'll be downstairs preparing breakfast before Lady Van Tassel  
wakes."

Young Masbath frowned. "Are you sure you can handle it by  
yourself?" he asked, and Katrina chuckled.

"Of course I can." She began humming again, and made her way  
down the old staircase. Young Masbath watched as she disappeared,  
and, after she was gone, tiptoed into his master's room. He crept  
silent as a mouse over to his corner, feeling as though he were  
coming home again. He felt more at home in his master's quarters  
than his own; they were so very tiny and cramped, and he hated being  
alone very long. Perhaps that was why he so desparately wished to  
work for the Constable after the death of his father.

He'd fallen asleep as soon as he sat down and leaned his  
head against the wall, and, when Ichabod awoke later that morning,  
he was startled to find the boy sitting in hs room. "Young Masbath?"  
he whispered, finding his throat to be terribly sore again, and his  
voice to be rather hoarse. His head ached, and he was desparate for  
a cup of tea. "Young Masbath?"

The boy jolted awake, and, after blinking, looked up. "Sir!  
How are you this morning?"

Ichabod coughed, massaging his throat, and lay back against  
the pillows. "Should have listened to you," he croaked, and the boy  
suddenly giggled, hiding the smile on his lips.

"Oh dear," he said. "You've lost your voice, haven't you?"

Ichabod raised an eyebrow. "Not completely," he  
admitted. "But I'm afraid my throat hurts and my head aches."

"Would you like a cup of tea, sir?" he asked, and Ichabod  
coughed again.

"Yes, that would be very nice, thank you. Is Katrina awake?"

Young Masbath nodded. "Yes, and she is making breakfast.  
Shall I bring you something too eat too, sir?"

Ichabod shook his head. "No," he whispered. "Just tea will  
suffice." He sighed, lying back down. "Young Masbath?" he added,  
just as the boy began to leave the room.

"Sir?" he peeked back in, and Ichabod motioned with his  
finger for the boy to come back to the bed. Young Masbath did so,  
though a might apprehensively.

"Last night…I…wasn't er…imagining things, was I?" Ichabod  
asked, his eyes widening. "Tell me you saw the horseman, too."

Young Masbath bit his lip, and nodded. "I did, sir."

"And it was…headless, am I correct?"

"It was headless, sir."

"I…I see. Th…thank you."

Young Masbath cocked his head to one side. "You will be all  
right, won't you, sir?" he asked, and Ichabod clutched the ends of  
his blankets.

"Oh, yes…yes," he gulped. "Fine, fine."

"Well, all right, then." Young Masbath stepped out into the  
hallway again, shutting the door behind him. He made his way down to  
the kitchen, where Katrina was feeding logs into the fireplace.

"Oh! He's awake?" Katrina asked, and Young Masbath nodded.

"Yes. Though his throat is hurting him, and he's loosing his  
voice a little."

"Oh dear," Katrina sighed. "Well, let us hope that is all  
that ails him."

Young Masbath hoisted the iron tea pot from the table, and  
turned to her. "I'm not so sure it is," he said frowning, and  
Katrina raised her head.

"No?"

"Well, he started questioning me about the headless  
horseman, and er, well, he doesn't quite seem to know what to think  
about it."

Katrina shook her head, preparing a breakfast of fresh eggs  
and sausages. "I am afraid his logical ways are of no good here,"  
she sighed. "He was rudely awoken, I daresay."

"Do you think he should return to the city? Is he not fit  
for us?" Young Masbath asked, and Katrina stared.

"Oh no, no," she said, just as her father came downstairs.

"Good morrow!" he greeted cheerfully, and he greeted his  
daughter with a kiss on the cheek. "How does Constable Crane fare  
this morning?"

Young Masbath looked at the master of the house, and set the  
iron pot on the table again. "He is ailing a bit this morning, Mr.  
Van Tassel. But it is nothing beyond a sore throat and headache,  
sir," he added, when he noticed Baltus' concerned expression.

"Oh, thank goodness. That is quite a relief, considering how  
quickly he forced himself into that cold weather yesterday."

"Miss Katrina," Young Masbath announced, "I'm going to fetch  
some water from the pump for tea."

"Do be cautious," Katrina told him. "And please remember  
your coat."

Young Masbath nodded in obedience, and struggled a little to  
carry the heavy pot towards the door. When he left, Baltus  
chuckled. "He's a good lad, Jonathan Masbath's son. It is a shame  
his father had to pass in such a manner."

Katrina nodded. "Yes, it is. I did like Jonathan Masbath  
very much. I remember being terribly devastated when Mrs. Masbath  
died. She was like a second mother to me."

Baltus patted her head. "Well," he began, "death is sadly a  
part of life. And by chance," he added, "did your stepmother come  
down this morning yet?"

Katrina looked up, startled. "She…I thought she was still  
asleep," she breathed, and Baltus shook his head.

"I'm afaid she snuck out before I woke," he sighed. "She is  
taking to quite wild fancies lately. I am afraid I should keep a  
closer eye on her whereabouts."

Katrina started to speak, when she heard Ichabod sneeze from  
upstairs. "HEISHHHH!"

"Oh dear," she chuckled, as Young Masbath came back inside  
with the full teapot.

"Do make enough for the doctor and the reverend, Katrina.  
They are planning on stopping by later this morning," Baltus said,  
as Young Masbath hung the pot over the fire.

Katrina went to one of the high cabinets and pulled out her  
box of tea leaves, trying to decide which to give Ichabod. "He is  
rather limited to which scents he can have, is he not?" she told  
Young Masbath. "Eucalyptus and lavender do not agree with him at  
all."

"No," Young Masbath shuddered, remembering the horrifying  
incident with the lavender earlier that week.

"I suppose ginger tea will have to work. Thank you, dear.  
You may go back upstairs…I will bring the tea to Constable Crane  
when it is ready," she insisted, and Young Masbath nodded. He went  
upstairs, not wanting to disturb his master right then. He did not  
hear Ichabod walking about, which meant that the Constable was still  
in bed.

"HUHKESHHH!"

Young Masbath decided to peek in at last, and saw Ichabod  
still lying in bed as he'd predicted, though gazing rather blankly  
into space. "The…the tea should be ready soon, sir," he announced,  
and Ichabod swallowed.

"Y…yes," he gulped.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"The horseman was…headless," Ichabod said. "Do you think I  
am all right?"

"But sir," Young Masbath said quietly, "we've told you all  
along we thought it was the headless horseman that was commiting the  
murders."

"It's a headless horseman," Ichabod repeated, and Young  
Masbath nodded.

"Yes, sir."

"Ah, Constable, it is good to see you are all right." Baltus  
stepped into Ichabod's quarters, having decided to see his guest  
himself before breakfast was ready.

"It was a headless horseman," Ichabod repeated, and Baltus  
raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"I saw him. I saw him!"

"Of course you did," Baltus replied seriously. "That is what  
we have been trying to explain to you since you arrived…'

"No," Ichabod quickly interjected, "It was a real horseman.  
A dead one…headless!"

"He's lost his mind!" Baltus exclaimed, as Katrina came up  
the steps at last, carrying a mug of ginger tea.

"Sir," Young Masbath began calmly, "We know you saw the  
horseman. I was there, remember? I saw it too."

"But he wasn't," Ichabod said, pointing at Baltus.

"But I know it exists," Baltus replied. "We've told you…  
everyone has told you about it."

Ichabod finally looked at Katrina, who was holding onto her  
cup of tea very tightly. "I saw him!" he said wildly, and, before  
either of the others could say anything, the back of his head  
connected with the wall as he went into a faint. Katrina stepped  
forward, as though she were about to tend to him, but then thought  
better of it, and looked at her father.

Young Masbath fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve, and  
sighed. "Well," he began, "I suppose it's back to the city then." 


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

When Ichabod finally awoke, he had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. Certainly hours, for night had fallen again over Sleepy Hollow once he opened his eyes.

"Blast," he cursed, struggling to sit up, and placed a steady hand against the back of his aching head.

"Easy sir," a small voice spoke, causing him to whirl around in surprise. Young Masbath frowned from where he stood beside the bed, reaching towards his master. Ichabod sighed with relief, glancing down for a moment.

"How long has it been?" he asked, and the boy wet his lips.

"At least five hours, sir…you knocked yourself out pretty good."

Ichabod groaned; an entire day wasted. In a situation such as this, time was everything.

"This is not going nearly as well as I expected," he answered, pulling the covers off, and Young Masbath folded his hands in front of him.

"It's all right, sir," he said. "you haven't failed yet."

Ichabod closed his eyes--it usually took some time to recover from each of his faints, though he was growing more used to the fog it left him immersed in.

"Sir…" Young Masbath continued as he struggled to stand. "I insist you lay back down again. It's late, and everyone's asleep. It'll do you no good to go out now; not when they can't hear you if…" he stepped backwards, and Ichabod smiled faintly.

"If the horseman came for me?" he asked, and the boy nodded. "You're right, lad…I ought to rest a while, and not start out until my mind is at work. Tell me, though--has anything unusual happened since I fainted?"

Young Masbath shook his head. "No, sir," he replied. "Nothing. At least…nothing other than the fact that Miss Sarah's still missing."

Ichabod cocked his head to one side. "Sarah still has not returned?" he peered out the window, where the thick mist continued to billow over the farmlands, making it difficult to see a far distance. "Very odd in deed." he cleared his throat, laying back down again, and attempting to get comfortable.

"I'm worried about her, sir," Young Masbath spoke up. "She's never gone for very long, and it's especially strange as Lady Van Tassell has returned first."

Ichabod nodded, yawning. "Well, Young Masbath…do not loose all hope. I am sure Sarah will turn up safe and sound." he closed his eyes. "You may retire, lad. I do not require your services tonight."

Young Masbath started to protest; he was still very worried about his master, and hated the thought of leaving him alone just yet.

"Are you sure, sir?" he asked. "I've grown accustomed to sleeping in my chair."

Ichabod cracked open an eye and turned his head. "I insist you rest," he replied. "Go on, now."

Young Masbath thanked Ichabod before bidding his master good night, and headed down into the hall. The mansion was as still as death with everyone asleep; the boy felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as he stood listening, though he could not find a reason for this.

_Let it be, _he told himself, heading towards the servants quarters.

When morning came, Ichabod did not wake until he heard people walking about and talking downstairs. Young Masbath was about to come in as he stepped out, and the two nearly collided with each other.

"I'm sorry, sir," Young Masbath apologized, blushing, and Ichabod chuckled, slipping into his heavy overcoat.

"No worries," he promised, and urged the boy towards the steps. He was truly feeling better now; the urge to cough or sneeze was not nearly as strong. Everyone turned in unison when they heard his footsteps on the stairs, and Baltus Van Tassel's mouth hung open in shock.

"You!" he gasped, pointing. "We thought you'd shot your bolt!"

Lady Van Tassell stood with her hand on Katrina's shoulder, and the younger woman seemed distinctly uncomfortable at the touch.

"Quite the contrary," Ichabod replied. "It was merely a setback in my plans. In fact, I am ready to go out and face my fears; in short, pit myself against a murderous ghost."

Katrina stepped forward with a gasp, but immediately shut her mouth when she saw the determined look on his face.

"I will need able men to go with me into the Western Woods to find where this ghost resides," he continued, and everyone frowned. "who's with me?"

When silence answered, Young Masbath took this as a time to raise his hand, and timidly respond, "Me, sir?"

Ichabod glanced at him once, and then back at the others, who still hadn't said a word.

"Very well," he replied. "Good." He walked the rest of the way down the steps, and Katrina immediately rushed to his side, insisting he bundle up as warmly as possible.

"Please look after him," she begged Young Masbath, who nodded his head in obedience.

"I will, Miss Katrina," he replied, and she watched as Ichabod put on a scarf and gloves, leading the way outside. She watched as he disappeared through the door, before turning her head towards her stepmother. Lady Van Tassell's expression was unreadable; her eyes had grown dark, but her mouth was upturned in a faint, almost too sweet smile.

"Come and help me in the kitchen, my dear," she encouraged, and Katrina felt frozen to the floor. "Katrina, must I repeat myself?" she asked when the younger woman hadn't moved. Katrina nodded at once and hurried into the kitchen, praying Ichabod and the boy would be safe. Once they were preparing breakfast for the rest of the household, Lady Van Tassell turned to her stepdaughter, frowning as the girl set bowls and pans on the table.

"I do no know what you see in that man," she spoke up after a few moments, and Katrina raised her head, her eyes raising.

"What do you mean?" she asked, and Lady Van Tassell gave a small huff.

"It is more than obvious how you feel about Constable Crane," she insisted. "By the looks you give him. Surely your father would wish for you to find a more suitable partner!"

Katrina felt her blood boiling. "If you mean Brom Van Brunt…" she seethed, and Lady Van Tassell straightened up.

"Whatever is the matter with him?" she asked. "He was a perfectly good match!"

"A horrid pig is what he is," Katrina scowled. "He caused Ichabod's accident in the river, in case you did not know. I do not wish to associate myself with someone who has such a foul attitude."

Lady Van Tassell sneered. "Is that so?" she replied, and Katrina turned away.

"I am old enough to make my own decisions, thank you," she growled. "you are not my mother." with that, she went about her work, and Lady Van Tassell gave the girl a menacing glare.

"We shall see about that, my dear," she replied in a tone so quiet Katrina could not hear.

Meanwhile, Ichabod and Young Masbath borrowed Gunpowder from Mr. Killian's once more, and rode out into the wood, where the murders took place. It was truly a frigid morning, and Ichabod had to cough a couple of times, his chest tightening. He was used to being warm in doors, and the cold was harsh.

"What do you know of the Van Garretts, Young Masbath?" he spoke up after they were silent for a while, and the boy stared.

"How do you know about…" he started, and Ichabod chuckled.

"I know he was one of the first to be murdered by the horseman; that is what my superiors told me in New York. However, as I was looking at the Van Tassell's family tree, I saw they were connected."

Young Masbath nodded. "Aye, sir…many are connected by blood or marriage here."

Ichabod excused himself to sneeze; "HEEEISHHHH! Excuse me, lad…" he apologized, and the horse gave a bob of his great head, snorting nervously.

"Bless, sir," Young Masbath said, and the Constable nodded.

"Thank you. Yes, that is what Katrina told me before. But did you know them?"

Young Masbath frowned. "My father worked for them," he answered, "and we lived in the coach house."

Ichabod turned in surprise. "It was nothing," Young Masbath insisted. "But something did happen one night a week before the murder. An argument upstairs, between father and son. And my father was later sent for by Mr. Van Garrett."

Ichabod tightened his grip on the reins. "I see." he wet his lips. "It appears this Van Garrett is the key piece to the puzzle; the first murdered, and the one man everyone seemed to have in common. It makes me wonder."

Young Masbath glanced up at the grey sky; it was very quiet in this wood; almost too quiet to be normal. Usually the sound of birds and wind rustling through the trees filled the air.

"Do you hear that, sir?" he asked, his ears ringing from the silence.

"I hear nothing," Ichabod replied, and the boy nodded.

"Nor I," he said. "No birds; no crickets…it's all gone so quiet."

As they rode on through the wood, they eventually heard a quiet humming in the distance. Young Masbath remembered Katrina humming in her room that morning, and shuddered. Ichabod heard the singing, too, and eventually pulled Gunpowder to a halt, encouraging the boy to dismount and follow him once the horse was tied.

They approached a cave, which was very low to the ground, and Young Masbath glanced at his master with a raised eyebrow.

"Are we going in?" he asked, and Ichabod nodded, removing his gun from the pocket of his coat.

"Yes," he whispered, and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, pressing him forward towards the mouth of the cave. Young Masbath felt a bit amused at how the full grown man was using him for protection, but at the same time, he was pleased to be trusted so deeply by a Constable.

"Very quietly," Ichabod whispered, and the two of them tiptoed through the entrance of the cave. It was lit by candles, and the stone walls were covered with moss and cobwebs. Once they came to a cavern, Young Masbath realized it was set up to be some sort of apothecary. A figure sat covered in a lace viel, chopping plants and mixing things in stone bowls.

She did not raise her viel at their arrival, but merely seemed to sense them. "You are from the Hollow?" she asked, sniffing deeply as a steam began to form from one of her bowls, and Ichabod tightened his grip on his ward's shoulder.

"Y-yes," Ichabod replied. "In a way, yes…I am…"

Young Masbath stared as the woman took a bowl of dead insects, and began to drop a handful of them into the plot. He made a face, wondering what on earth she was going to do with such a mixture.

"I should like to say…um…" Ichabod continued, his voice very squeaky, "I make no assumptions about your occupation, no, your ways, witch--which--which--are nothing to me…um, whatever you are. Each to his own…"

The woman stood and reached for something else, slamming it on the table, and they realized it was a dead bird; a cardinal no less. Young Masbath glanced at his master, who had closed his eyes for a moment, looking as though he were going to be ill.

"Do you know the horseman, ma'am?" Young Masbath asked at last, stunned by his own bravery. "The Hessian?"

The woman looked at him; well, peered at him through her veil; and raised a finger to her throat, drawing it very slowly across as though it were a knife.

Young Masbath swallowed anxiously, and slipped away from Ichabod's grasp, wanting to run through the cave's entrance.

"That'll be him, ma'am," he replied, and Ichabod turned to peer into his eyes, pointing towards the entrance hall.

"Go on, Young Masbath…" he whispered. "I have a handle on this."

The woman agreed. "Aye," she said. "Go out, child. And keep away," she added. "Whatever you hear, keep away…" she came around to the front of the table, and took Ichabod's arm. Young Masbath nodded in obedience, and immediately took off for the mouth of the cave. Once outside, he stood watching where Gunpowder remained tied to a tree, and sat down, hugging his knees to his chest. He hoped his master would be all right in the cave with the stranger, though she did not seem dangerous. _Not very, _Young Masbath thought, as a breeze stirred up a pile of leaves before his feet.

Suddenly a flash went before his eyes; a child being forced to stand in a corner; a symbol being cut into the flesh of another. _Keep away, child…whatever you hear…keep away…_he blinked hard, his breath catching in his throat. What had he seen? It had nothing at all to do with the headless horseman; of that he was certain. There had not been a single child victim since the Hessian came, and he gritted his teeth. And who was the figure covered in a black cloak?

_You've had visions before, _a voice told him. _You knew your father was going to die soon. _

Young Masbath curled into a ball against the stone, hugging his knees to his chest, and tried to block the sight of the blood dripping down the little girl's face as she struggled. "Who are you?" he spoke out loud, and all that replied was Gunpowder's quiet nicker. just as Ichabod came running from the cave, immediately reaching for him.

"We're leaving," he announced, and he jumped immediately, glancing where they'd been.

"What happened?" he asked, unsure of whether or not he should tell his master what had happened while he sat there alone.

"We're leaving now," Ichabod repeated, and Young Masbath followed him to the horse.

"Where'are we going?" Young Masbath asked, once they mounted, and Ichabod glanced at him, startled to see a deep fear in the boy's eyes.

"The Indian Trail to the tree of the dead," he replied. "I'm sorry you had to sit out there alone; are you all right? You look a bit pale."

Young Masbath shook his head. "Yes, sir," he replied. "I was…" he swallowed. "I must have fallen asleep and had a nightmare…'s all," he added, and Ichabod raised his eyes with concern.

"Mmmm." he urged Gunpowder forward, and Young Masbath kept his hands tightly around the Constable's waist. As they rode, the eerie silence continued, at least until they thought they heard other hoof beats along.

"What's that?" Young Masbath asked, pointing ahead, and Ichabod could see a figure in white, on a light grey horse, passing through the trees. Gunpowder was pulled to a stop again, and Young Masbath peered over his master's shoulder, unable to get a closer look at the intruder.

With a single leap, Ichabod was to the ground, and had Young Masbath stay on top of Gunpowder while he went to investigate.

"I will, sir," Young Masbath promised, though he realized how much he he hated to be left alone.

Ichabod once again removed the pistol from his pocket, trying to ignore his trembling hands. It always amazed him how brave he could truly be, when normally the tiniest thing such as a spider could scare him out of his wits.

When he grew closer to the figure, he saw the horse had stopped, and it appeared to be waiting. "Halt and turn!" he suddenly shouted, pointing the pistol directly at the stranger. "I have a pistol aimed!"

Before he knew what was happening, the stranger pulled down its hood, revealing a head of familiar blonde curls. Katrina turned to face him, her eyes full of surprise at the gun. He immediately hurried towards her, his mouth opening and closing, unable to believe what was happening.

"Katrina!" he breathed. "I might have killed you…why have you come?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Because no one else would go with you," she replied, and he reached for her hand, which was so pale and soft.

"Well now," he breathed, "I am now twice that man. It is your white magic."

Katrina blushed, and she began to lean towards him, the prospect of another kiss lingering. They were barely inches away when they heard someone call, "Pardon my intrusion!" and turned to see Young Masbath standing there. "But I think you'd better come and look at this."

Ichabod was about to reprimand the boy for leaving his post without his permission, but Katrina touched his arm in warning.

"All right," he answered, and she urged her horse after the two.

"Has the cold been too bad?" she asked, and Ichabod glanced at her, his eyes warm and gentle.

"Not very," he replied. "It was a bit of a shock when we first got outside, but I have gotten over it."

Katrina smiled, and soon, Young Masbath stood still, pointing ahead. "Look," he whispered, and she dismounted, standing next to him. The three stood in a row, and what they stood gaping at was a very old tree, twisted and sick looking. It appeared as though it were almost human, it's mouth open in a pending wail of agony.

Silence overcame them at once, and Katrina touched Young Masbath's arm, just as he breathed, "The Tree of the Dead."

Ichabod, coughed slightly, and went closer, reaching to touch the rough bark with his fingertips. When he removed them, he found something very red and sticky, which appeared to be, "blood." he cringed, smelling it to be sure, and the metallic scent was all too familiar.

"A tree that bleeds?" Katrina asked, amazed. "How can that be?" 

Ichabod shook his head, going for his axe, and encouraged her to keep Young Masbath aside. "Stay where you are," he said, and she nodded, watching as he went back, and hacked at the trunk. More red liquid bubbled from the depths of the tree, making his stomach churn, and he was grateful he hadn't eaten just yet.

Soon his chopping became more vigorous, and blood spurted every which way, covering his face. He tossed the axe aside, reaching down, and tore a hunk of the tree away with his bare hands.

"What is it, sir?" Young Masbath asked, wrinkling his nose, and felt Katrina hold him back as he started to step forward.

"Just…" Ichabod cleared his throat. "stay where you are. Don't move," he replied, and Young Masbath paused in step. When another chunk of tree was pulled away, Katrina felt her heart stop in midbeat; an array of heads popped out at once, and she drew Young Masbath to her breast. She did not want him to see his father's head, which was at the top of the pile.

Ichabod immediately reached for his handkerchief tucked deep in his pocket, and covered his mouth with it; the stench of the rotting heads was terrible.

"Oh…" Katrina closed her eyes, grateful she hadn't passed out yet, and felt Young Masbath tighten his grip around her body. "Ichabod, what on Earth!"

"It appears this is a gateway," Ichabod replied. "A gateway between two world's. The horseman attempts to try on heads, to see if it belongs to him, but because the souls are so good, they will not pass with him into the underworld." he wet his lips, and climbed onto the enormous tree root, noticing an old gravesite with a sword sticking out of it. Strange to think he had just heard the story of the headless horseman a few days before, and hadn't believed a single word. Now reality was slapping him in the face, proving him wrong.

"Children, sir?" Young Masbath spoke up after a while, and Ichabod looked at him.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, and the boy swallowed.

"Are there any heads of children in there?"

Ichabod frowned. "I don't believe so, Young Masbath. Why do you ask?"

Katrina cocked her head to one side, and the boy stared at her.

"Nothing," he insisted, and Ichabod gave a sniff.

"Mmmm." he began to feel around with his boots. "This grave has been disturbed…the soil is loose." he thought for a moment. "Young Masbath….will you hand me the shovel, lad?"

The boy frowned deeply, and Katrina eventually released him, so he could go to the packs on Gunpowder.

Ichabod began to dig up the dirt from the gravesite, having to pause to sneeze as it flew everywhere. "HEHISHHH! HUHCHSHHH!"

"Bless, sir!" Young Masbath said, and Ichabod looked at him wearily.

"Thank you," he replied, and at last they hit the bottom of the site, revealing a decaying skeleton. Young Masbath stared at it, open-mouthed; this was the headless horseman's grave, all right! "Well, this solves it," Ichabod continued. "The skull is gone. Taken, you see? The horseman would not have risen from the dead at all, had his skull remained in tact. Clearly someone has taken it for the purpose of controlling the spirit; and there you are…a human accomplice."

Young Masbath stared at his master, and then back into the grave.

"But who would do such a thing, sir? That's terrible!"

Ichabod shook his head. "That is the very question, Young Masbath, which we are going to figure out. At least we now know the suspect is very much a human being; that will give us a better bea…eh…HESHHHUH!" he sneezed again, and Katrina steadied the horses as they began to get antsy.

"Bless!" she called, and once Young Masbath hopped back down from the gravesite, he went to take hold of Gunpowder again, thanking Katrina for holding him.

Ichabod continued to stand by the open grave, pondering the situation before him. Who on Earth would have such terrible revenge upon the tiny town, as to disturb the body of a famous fiend? He thought back to his discussion of the Van Garrett's with Young Masbath, and decided the next stop would most certainly be Notary Hardenbrook's office. There had to be documents pertaining to the Mr. Van Garrett's death handy, or something related to the horseman's case, if it was so popular throughout Sleepy Hollow.

Due to the fact that he standing above the opening in the tree, Ichabod did not see what was occurring next. Katrina, however, did notice; the head were slowly being sucked downward, along with the roots and brush blocking the entrance.

"Ichabod…" she called, and he raised his head to her, frowning deeply. Young Masbath, who finally gained the courage to peer into the hole, stepped forward, holding a gun in his hands.

"What's happening?" he asked, and Katrina's face grew very white as wind began to blow her skirts into a billowing mushroom shape. With a loud whinny and a burst of blood and gore, the headless horseman leapt from the underworld, galloping past them at lightening speed.

"Oh!!" Young Masbath yelped, nearly falling back against Katrina. She caught him before he hit the ground, and the two of them turned to watch as the horseman disappeared amongst the trees, heading in the direction of the village.

"What do we do?" Katrina cried, just as Ichabod leapt from the trunk, and flew towards Gunpowder.

"Young Masbath…" he began breathlessly; "Take Katrina home."

The boy glanced at Katrina with wide eyes, and she stepped forward. "Ichabod, you cant be serious!"

The Constable mounted his horse, and glanced at her. "I have no time to waste," he replied, and dug his heels into the animal's side. Katrina stood with the servant boy at her side, and felt her heart breaking in two. The very thought of Ichabod going head first into danger again was horrid.

"Come on, Miss Katrina," Young Masbath called, taking her hand, and attempting to pull her towards the white horse. "Let us get out of here!"

Katrina started to protest, but the frightened look on the boy's face caused her to shut it again. She allowed him to climb on first, and clung to his waist as they sped back towards the Van Tassell mansion.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Ichabod rode on, trying to keep up with the horseman's tracks. His eyes teared up due to the cold wind against his face, and he had no idea what he would do if he met up with the headless hessian. _It is not as though I can pull him aside and ask questions, _he thought, as the town slowly came into view.

He arrived just in time to hear a child screaming, and felt his heart stop in mid-beat. It was too late--the villain had already struck its next victim. Ichabod kicked Gunpowder's sides, causing the animal to bolt forward in full gallop. The first person he reached was Brom Van Brunt, who sat atop his own horse with a rifle in his hands.

"Mr. Van Brunt!"

Brom cursed silently to himself at the sound of the Constable's voice from behind, and glanced over his shoulder as Ichabod slowed to stand beside him.

"What do you want, Crane?" Brom asked, and Ichabod took a deep breath.

"I saw the horseman come this way, and I heard…"

"He was at the Killian's," Brom replied, and Ichabod frowned deeply. "That scream you heard…was their son."

Ichabod cringed. "I…I see…" he cleared his throat. "And what were you…"

"I," Brom continued, his voice low and menacing, "was going after him, until you interrupted." with a loud, "Yah!" he set his own horse into a gallop, and was at least a good twenty or so feet ahead of Ichabod within seconds.

Ichabod shook his head, cursing Van Brunt for his foolishness, and followed close at his heels. When he saw Brom again, the young man was in the midst of a hopeless battle against the headless horseman. Metal clanged against metal; Brom was struck with such force he was knocked backwards. He recovered soon afterwards, and tossed his own knife into the horseman's back. The beast arched forward in shock from the sudden "injury", and immediately whirled around, ripping the dagger out and tossing it at his intruder. Brom yelled in pain as the knife stuck in his thigh; he could feel blood seeping down his skin, warm and fast.

He managed to unleash the knife from his flesh, staring at the blood on the tip as it sparkled in the moonlight. The horseman was leaving again; he couldn't let the barbarian disappear! Rushing forward; well, limping…Brom found two skives in a nearby haystack, and took them for his newfound weapons.

"Wait!" Ichabod dismounted, and ran forward, managing to catch Brom's arm. "He's not after you!" This much was clear…the horseman was walking away, clearly uninterested by the two men.

Brom scowled, shrugging Ichabod off, and blew out his breath. "I'll get 'im," he retorted, and took off again. Ichabod pursed his lips, and ran to grab a rake from the side of the barn, chasing after his partner in battle. They followed the horseman in the direction of the old covered bridge; Ichabod was rudely reminded of his near-death experience in the river there.

The sound of the water rushing below caused his stomach to churn; he could feel his lungs burning from lack of oxygen. If he never in a million years experienced what it would be like to drown, he would be most grateful.

"Don't you ever back off, you old loon?" Brom shouted when he realized Ichabod was at his side again, and they were now inside the bridge, their footsteps echoing along the walls.

"Mr. Van Brunt, I assure you…I never meant to offend…" Ichabod stuttered, and the other man scowled.

"You offended by setting foot in Sleepy Hollow," he replied. "It is because of you I have lost what I treasured most; you selfish bastard…" he grabbed Ichabod's collar, wanting desparately to strangle him.

Ichabod gasped in shock from the tightenss of his clothing around his neck, and immediately knew Brom was talking of Katrina. He was about to respond when they both heard what sounded like foosteps stomping high above them. Ichabod rubbed his neck when Brom let go of him, relieved he didn't collapse to his knees afterwards.

The two of them glanced at each other with confusion as the foosteps grew closer, and very slowly, they turned around. The horseman stood there, waiting for them…he held a long piece of wood with a pointed tip at the end, and his famous sword in the other. Ichabod was about to shout something, but the tip of the spear went into his flesh just above his heart. He cried out as the force of the motion flung him into the air, and he crashed to the wooden floor of the bridge with a _THUNK. _

The pain from the wound was incredible…he lay with his face contorted for a moment, unable to move as the wind was knocked out of him from the fall. When he managed to collect his wits, he raised his head, and saw Brom attempting to once more battle the horseman. He would not be successful, though…the horseman caused him to loose hold of his weapons, and he was chopped in half moments later. His blood rushed into the air like a fountain, and the horseman turned to face Ichabod; had he a head still attached, it was almost certain he would smile in satisfaction.

When the villain left the premisis, the pain became so great, Ichabod lost all consciousness.

He had no idea how long he lay there, but it was not until an hour later that Young Masbath came to find him. "Sir!" the boy knelt down and turned his master over, not pleased by the grayish tint to his cheeks. Ichabod let out a soft moan as the boy tapped his cheeks, and he coughed roughly, whimpering.

"Oh sir, you're hurt…if only I were faster…I'm sorry…" Young Masbath clutched Ichabod's hand, a tear rolling down his cheek. Ichabod managed to open his eyes for a moment, and it took a bit for his vision to clear.

"Get…help," he gasped, and the lad was off like a shot, after covering him with the blanket he'd brought. Ichabod lay shivering under the wool, feeling suddenly very warm. When Baltus Van Tassel and Doctor Lancaster arrived, he was pronounced feverish. Brom's severed body was carried away as well, and Ichabod was taken back to the mansion.

"Easy now," Doctor Lancaster warned as he was aided up to his room, nearly stumbling twice. He was given help sliding under the covers, and the doctor unbuttoned his shirt to examine the wound. Baltus went to find Katrina, who nearly fainted when she heard the news of the Constable's condition.

"The poor man…he's had nothing but bad luck since arriving here," she told herself, as she rushed down to the kitchen, determined to make a draft that would help Ichabod rest easier that night. She was also in a bit of shock at the news of Brom's death; and could not help but blame herself partially for it.

When Young Masbath came downstairs to see if she needed assistance, he found her sitting at the table, waiting for the cast iron pot to heat. "What is it, Miss Katrina?" the boy asked, joining her, and she looked at him.

"I…I can not help but feel responsible for Brom," she whispered, and he stared.

"What?" he cried. "Why?"

She wet her lips. "I put a curse on him after I discovered what he did to Ichabod…and now he's dead."

Young Masbath placed a hand on the young woman's shoulder, and was a bit startled when she reached up to grab it, closing her eyes tightly. "My master'll get well," he promised. "you'll see."

Katrina nodded, smiling weakly at him, and went to continue creating her potion.

Meanwhile, Doctor Lancaster marveled about the nature of Ichabod's scar. "It is remarkable," he began, after peering closely at the younger man's shoudler. "A wound like this should have killed him. But he needs no stitch and there is hardly a loss of blood."

Ichabod had been sleeping ever since he was put in bed, and let out a cry, shooting up for a moment. He would have remained in that position, only the pain throbbed, causing him to fall back against the pillows once more.

Doctor Lancaster glanced at Baltus, and then back at his patient. "You must be still," he warned, and Ichabod swallowed, his throat very dry. "The fever is upon you."

Ichabod gritted his teeth, tossing and turning…he was too hot, but freezing cold at the same time.

"Katrina…" he whispered, grabbing the end of the quilt tightly. "_Huh…KSHHHH!_" he sneezed roughly, and Doctor Lancaster frowned, just as Katrina came into the room carrying a glass in her hand. Young Masbath followed quietly, immediately taking his post by the window.

"Here," she soothed, reaching up to smooth his hair away from his forehead. "Drink this…it will help you sleep."

Ichabod eyed the liquid hesitatingly, but he relaxed when he saw the expresison on her face.

"Katrina…" he breathed, "I tried…I tried to stop Brom, but…"

She sat down on the edge of the bed, smiling weakly. "Shhhsh," she begged, and he raised his eyes.

"The horseman was not set to kill Brom or me," he continued, "had Brom not attacked him!"

Katrina "shhhh"ed him again, and Doctor Lancaster leaned back in his own seat, cupping his chin between his thumb and pointer finger.

"Later," Baltus added, "You must rest, now. We do not want to risk you catching the winter fever on us again."

As if to prove his point, Ichabod sneezed again, chilled to his bones from laying on the cold wood. "_HESHHHHUH!_"

Katrina blessed him, fetching a few clean handkerchiefs, placing one into his hand, and encouraged him to blow his nose. "The horseman does not kill at random," he continued between shivers, and she took his hand, squeezing it calmly. "his victims are chosen by someone who controls him. By that very person who took his skull…by one of flesh and blood, as I have always said."

Baltus shook his head just as Lady Van Tassell came in to see what was going on, and the Doctor leaned forward. "These are ravings," Baltus breathed, just as Katrina encouraged the Constable to take a small sip of her mixture. It was very bitter, and Ichabod nearly spit it out, but she clamped his lips together.

"Swallow every last drop," she ordered, and he peered into her eyes. Katrina was so beautiful; she was an angel directly from heaven, he was sure of it. He understood Brom's fury at the thought that someone might come between he and the young woman, but Ichabod never dreamt of doing something so terrible. Now, though…

"I--I am sory--" he whispered, and she shook her head.

"Shhhhh. Sleep now," she replied, and he found he could no longer keep his eyes open. When darkness clouded his mind, he allowed his body to relax, and sighed softly.

Once his breathing became somewhat even, Katrina set the glass on the nightstand, and glanced at her father, stepmother, and the doctor. "May I watch over him, father?" she asked, and Young Masbath's ears pricked; it was starting to rain outside.

_"Ichabod…"_

_A gentle, female voice rang in the seven year old's ears as he hid behind a pew in the old church. The room was very white, and the carpet red as blood. For some reason, after his mother was taken, he knew exactly where she would be. _

_"Ichabod…"_

_He smiled, hoping she was all right. The door to the room at the far end of the hall opened slowly, revealing the tall, threatening form of his father. The man with the cold eyes and tight lips walked past, not giving the slightest notice to the child to his left. _

_Ichabod waited with bated breath, glancing over his shoulder as his father passed through the main door of a church, the back of his cape making him appear almost headless. When he was gone, Ichabod turned towards the other room, feeling his heart start to race once more. _

_"Ichabod…"_

_"I'm coming, mother," he whispered, tiptoeing towards the door. "I promise…"_

_His footsteps quickened, and before he knew it, he was twisting open the brass knob. The room was full of evil, pure evil…mechanical devices purely designed to tear at human flesh. Ichabod's mouth hung open; he knew his father was of a bad sort, but he had no idea it had gone this far! _

_He gazed around, his dark eyes focusing on a bed of sharp, silver spikes. He quickly skirted around it, and then stopped in front of a tall, iron maiden. A pair of dark brown eyes stared at him through the slit at the top; eyes he recognized to be his mothers. They were no longer warm, soft, welcoming--they were staring; lifeless._

_With a strangled cry, Ichabod fell back, his hands pressing onto the spiked bed; blood spurted out of the holes they produced. He gulped in pain, but wanted to get his mother out of that horrible contraption. _

_"Ichabod…" her voice rang sweetly in his ears again, and he dashed towards the iron maiden, his half-numb fingers wrenching at the lock. Let her out, let her out! He screamed silently to himself. When it finally gave way, the door flew open, and the body of his mother fell out amongst a river of blood…_

Ichabod let out a yell of horror, shooting straight up in bed, and into Katrina's outstretched arms. He was shaking from fear of the dream he'd just experienced, and clung to her helplessly as he panted.

"Shhhsh," Katrina soothed, stroking his hair with her fingertips, grateful his skin felt much cooler. "You were dreaming."

Ichabod closed his eyes; she smelt of light sunflower perfume, which was very calming to his senses. "Yes," he gulped, once he managed to steady his breathing again, and Katrina eased him back so she was peering into his eyes. She looked very tired, and had more than likely been sitting with him for several hours. Young Masbath was no longer in the room, the Constable noticed, and when he inquired of the boy's whereabouts, Katrina smiled again.

"He is in his room resting," she answered. "Now…tell me what you dreamt?"

Ichabod swallowed, his throat very dry. "Of things long forgotten; that I should not like to remember," he told her, and she cocked her head to one side.

"I wish to know, Ichabod. Talking about such things helps to prevent the dreams from occurring again."

Ichabod gazed into her dark eyes, surprised that anyone was taking an interest in his thoughts.

"I dreamt the day my mother was killed," he explained, "the day she was murdered…by my father."

Katrina's mouth opened and closed for a moment, as though she were unsure of what to say.

"Murdered, by…?" she held onto his hand, massaging the top of it with her thumb.

"My mother was an innocent," Ichabod continued, "a child of nature. But my father…he believed her to be a witch, and felt to kill her was the only chance to save her soul."

Katrina lowered her head, feeling terrible. "I am so sorry," she breathed, and he glanced at her. "How old were you?"

"Seven," Ichabod replied, and she covered her mouth with one hand. "Let us just say…that is when I lost my faith."

Katrina frowned deeply, and leaned back a little. "What is it you do believe in, Ichabod?" she asked, and he gave a small sigh, wanting to curl under the covers and go back to sleep. His shoulder still ached, and though he was no longer feverish, the ordeal had exhausted him.

"Sense and reason…cause and consequence." he cleared his throat, accepting a tin glass of water from the nightstand, and he took a sip. "I should not have come to this place, where my rational mind has been so controverter by the spirit world." Katrina's hand was on his back, and he leaned against her, very weary.

"Is there nothing you will take from Sleepy Hollow that was worth the coming here?" she asked, and he wet his lips.

"No," he admitted slowly, "not nothing. A kiss…and how rare a thing…a kiss from a lovely young woman, before she saw my face or knew my name."

Katrina smiled again, and her cheeks turned rosy. "Yes," she agreed, "without sense or reason." she planted another on his cheek, and he turned his head, ashamed.

"Forgive me," he apologized. "I talk of kisses, and you have lost your brave man, Brom."

Again, the urge to tell of Brom's deed lay at the tip of Katrina's tongue; but she could not bear to startle Ichabod with the news so suddenly. "I have shed my tears for Brom," she admitted, "and yet my heart is not broken. Do you think me wicked?"

Ichabod chuckled, absentmindly reaching for his handkerchief."No…but perhaps there is a little bit of witch in you, Katrina," he teased, before excusing himself to sneeze roughly. "_HehSHUUUH!_" he paused, expecting another, but was relieved when it decided to back down.

"Bless," Katrina laughed. "Now why do you say such a thing?" she narrowed her eyes playfully, and Ichabod gazed at her warmly.

"Because you have bewitched me," he explained, and she immediately drew him into a hug, her hear fluttering with happiness. They held each other for quite some time, before Ichabod yawned loudly.

"My apologies," he whispered, and she shook her head, easing him back against the pillows.

"No need," she said. "You are very tired…quite a bit has happened in a short time. I insist you rest, before you make yourself ill again."

Ichabod sighed as she pulled the blankets towards his neck, and closed his eyes when she bent down to place a kiss on his forehead. "Thank you, Katrina," he whispered, and she took her place once again in her chair.

"If anyone deserves to be cared for, it is you dear Ichabod," she replied, and watched as he slowly drifted off again.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Young Masbath was the first to enter the Constable's chambers the following morning, but was shooed off by the Lady Van Tassell, who had taken over the watch for Katrina at dawn.

"He is finally resting comfortably, so do not rouse him just yet, young lad," she warned. Young Masbath glanced in and saw his master sleeping peacefully, and with a nod of understanding, left the room at once.

When Ichabod did finally wake, he was startled to see Katrina's stepmother looking after him. His shoulder was still sore, but he no longer felt feverish.

"You slept like the dead," Lady Van Tassell chuckled as she prepared a small breakfast of fruit and bread on the desk. Ichabod smiled faintly at her, coughing a little.

"I beg your pardon," he apologized, "but I do not wish to be served by the lady of the house."

She finished chopping the apple in her hand, and wiped her palms upon her skirt.

"And nor would you be," she replied, "except that the servant girl has vanished."

Ichabod stared. He remembered Young Masbath's concern over the maid missing for far longer than she should have, and shuddered slightly. "Sarah?" he asked, and Lady Van Tassell sighed sadly.

"Run away, like so many others." she stood up at last. "they're all leaving in fear."

Ichabod frowned as Lady Van Tassell began to head towards the doorway of the bedroom. "Where is Katrina?" he asked, and the woman felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle. Katrina was the only reason she'd kept herself from attempting to kill Ichabod Crane again; it was obvious the girl suspected her.

"She watched over you until dawn," she replied calmly. "Now it is her turn to sleep." At that point she left, just as Ichabod let out a rather violent sneeze.

"_HehISHHHH!_" and fumbled in his trouser pocket for a hankdy.

"Bless, sir," Young Masbath announced as he came into the room following in the Lady's wake. He carried a pitcher of water in his hands, and set it down on the dresser top. Ichabod blew his nose before swinging his legs over the side of the bed, grimacing at the pain in his arm.

"Good morning, Young Masbath," he greeted with a faint smile. "I wanted to thank you for coming to my aid last night."

The boy bowed his small head, and a blush crept into his pale cheeks. "I would do anything for you, sir," he replied. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

Ichabod cleared his throat. "And fit for another day of investigations," he added, and the boy cocked his head to one side, going to help his master to his feet.

"Are you sure that's wise, sir?" he asked. "Perhaps you should rest a while longer…"

Ichabod grunted once he was upright, and massaged his shoulder. "Nonsense," he said. "I'll be all right once I get into the fresh air. I have put off my duties far too long already." he accepted his coat from the back of the chair, and then Young Masbath carried the leather satchel for him. He paused again, feeling the itch back in his nose, and cursed silently when the sneeze backed away.

"Where is it that we are going now, sir?" Young Masbath asked, for the Constable seemed to do things on a bit of a whim. "Sir?" he asked, when he saw Ichabod holding his hand towards his face.

_"Heh…hehISHHHHH!_"

"Goodness, I do wish you'd reconsider?" Young Masbath frowned, and Ichabod shook his head.

"No," he croaked. "We must make a visit to Notary Hardenbrook's." he sniffed, before sliding his hands into old, thin gloves.

"Why?" Young Masbath followed Ichabod out of the room; the Van Tassell mansion was filled with familiar sounds of daily life, though Katrina was nowhere to be seen.

"Because I expect to find deposited…the last will and testament of the elder Van Garrett." his eyes were sparkling, as though he had suddenly uncovered a great secret.

"You have thought of something," Young Masbath pointed out, and Ichabod glanced at him.

"Of something you said, Young Masbath…you mentioned the Widow Winship brought eggs to Mr. Van Garrett, who I understand had hens to spare. It was Van Garrett's child the widow was carrying. And has anything else occurred while I was sleeping last night?"

Young Masbath shook his head. "No, sir," he admitted. "nothing unusual. Though I'll admit, I was rather tired last night, so I dozed a bit."

Ichabod nodded in understanding. "That is all right, lad. Well, let us move on, then, while there is still plenty of daylight."

Young Masbath followed Ichabod swiftly down the stairs, passing Baltus, who inquired of the Constable's current health.

"I am doing quite well today, thank you," Ichabod replied with a nod.

"You do have some strength, sir, I will give you that," Baltus chuckled, and told them to be careful while wandering the village streets. "It is quite difficult to trust anyone these days," he explained. "You must be weary."

Ichabod glanced at Young Masbath, who was waiting patiently, and bid the older man good day. "Give my best to Katrina when she wakes," he added, before urging the boy outdoors. The cold was once again bone piercing; and made the wound throb with discomfort.

Luckily the walk to town was not that far of a distance, and Ichabod was feeling well enough to travel by foot. The boy stayed very close beside him, though, in case he needed assistance or grew too tired.

When they arrived at the Notary's office, Young Masbath felt a pang of excitement. He could not read very well, to be perfectly honest; the only thing his parents allowed him was sheet music. Otherwise, they had no time to burry their noses in books. When he admitted this information, Ichabod chuckled warmly, giving the lad a squeeze of the shoulder.

"We shall soon remedy that," he explained, and Young Masbath smiled, relieved his master did not think him stupid.

They entered the small building, and the sight of so many books and papers was a bit overwhelming. Every table and ounce of floor space was covered, and the dust floating around made both of them cough with annoyance.

However, Hardenbrook was nowhere to be found when they went in all the way, so they took it upon themselves to begin searching.

Young Masbath wandered amongst the documents, and his eye caught a familiar object somewhat hidden to the left of the room. He dashed towards it, and after removing a paper or two, felt his heart sink. He reached for what was an old, leather briefcase, and his fingertips touched his father's initials, engraved in gold lettering: J.M.

He barely had his fingers on it for a couple of seconds when a very distinct vision flashed in front of his eyes. The cloaked figure was leaning over the body of a lifeless, female child, a weathered hand stabbing a knife into the victim's stomach. The knife twisted about in multiple directions; blood flew everywhere…

Young Masbath collapsed to his knees, hugging the satchel to his chest. At once, Ichabod was beside him, asking if he had taken ill. "No, sir," the boy squeaked, and the Constable felt his forehead with the back of his hand.

"No fever." he frowned deeply.

"I'm all right," Young Masbath lied, accepting a hand up. "It is just…a bit hot and cramped in here. Got a bit dizzy."

Ichabod noticed the satchel, and when he asked of it, Young Masbath glanced down.

"It is my father's," he explained, and set it down on another table, with the intention of fishing around inside. Ichabod watched curiously as the boy uncovered some folded documents, with the Van Garrett seal placed dead center.

"Hmmm." Ichabod took the first document and found the seal to be broken. He heard movement from inside one of the cabinets in the corner, and felt his heart leap into his throat. Someone was in here! He timidly reached for the handle of the old wardrobe, and after opening it, cried out with alarm. Notary Hardenbrook was crouched amongst his coats, looking like a mouse who had been running away from a cat.

"Notary Hardenbrook?" Ichabod exclaimed, and the old man crept out at once, brusting past Young Masbath to hide in another corner. The boy clutched his father's suitcase protectively, curious as to why Hardenbrook had it here to begin with.

"Leave me alone!" Hardenbrook demanded, and Ichabod glanced at his ward with a raised eyebrow, stepping forward.

"Not until I have the last will and testament of old man Van Garrett," he replied, and the Notary sat down on a box, twitching whenever someone made a movement.

"The will leaves everything to his son," Hardenbrook replied, as Ichabod took the document from Young Masbath, inspecting it closer, and his eyes narrowed with recognition.

"Interesting...who died with him. Now, does this look familiar to you, Hardenbrook?" he presented the document to the Notary, who's eyes bulged.

"I'm a dead man," he breathed, covering his face with his hands, and Ichabod opened the flaps, reading through the tiny script.

"Van Garrett Senior left his estate to his next of kin, that is to say, his only son, you are correct. However, the son being murdered in the same insant…the next of kin after the son would be the eldest of the line from Van Garrett's father's sister. None other than Baltus Van Tassell; something else no one thought to mention!"

Young Masbath raised his eyes; it was hard to imagine Baltus Van Tassell was the one in charge of the murders. He was as threatening as a fruit fly, and to have raised a daughter so simply and with such tender care…it did not make sense! Yet, the evidence was in deed pointing against him.

"It appears to be a conspiracy, then," Ichabod continued, "which I initially decided on when I saw you, Steenwyck, Phillipse, and the doctor conversing the night the magistrate was killed. It is quite obvious you know who is behind these murders…otherwise, why would secrecy be induced?"

"It is true!" Hardenbrook wailed. "but we did not know it was a murdering plot when we were drawn in!"

"Drawn in by whom?!" Ichabod demanded, and Hardenbrook lowered his head.

"Mercy upon me…we meant no harm to come to her!"

"Whom…"

Young Masbath wet his lips, and continued searching through his father's satchel, trying to get his mind off of the dead child in his vision. He stumbled across another familiar document, and called Ichabod to attention.

"What is it, lad?" the Constable asked, and the boy handed him another document, which caused him to smile knowingly.

"Ahhhh, her…I see. Old Van Garrett secretly married the Widow Winship, and left everything to her, and the unborn child. So she stood between Baltus and the legacy, then! It is all coming together, I fear."

Hardenbrook stood, demanding they leave at once, for he was already in dreadful danger. "The horseman will come for me…I have helped you," he sobbed, and Ichabod glanced at Young Masbath.

"I know why your father died," he continued. "the night when Van Garrett quarreled with his son, Jonathan Masbath was summoned upstairs to bear witness to the new will. Here is your father's signature." he pointed to the writing at the bottom of the page, and Young Masbath felt his throat choking up with tears. "I'm afraid it was his death warrant. But…the secret was not safe, even then. Mrs. Killian, the midwife, was informed the baby was coming…and so she too, had to die. Naturally her husband was around to hear the news, so he had to be disposed of---as well as the young boy."

Young Masbath gave a small sniff, wiping a tear away that threatened to roll down his cheek. "As for the rest of you…Steenwyck married them. Doctor Lancaster confirmed the Widow pregnant, and she told the secret to Magistrate Phillipse. And you…" he pointed a finger at Hardenbrook, who was crouched very low, looking terrified. "concealed the documents in question!"

Hardenbrook groaned, covering his ears…he knew Baltus made a mistake of bringing this Constable to Sleepy Hollow. He was more trouble than he was worth!

"And you all kept your silence, why?" Ichabod folded his arms. "because you feared Baltus Van Tassell, who stood to gain by the Van Garrett fortune!"

Young Masbath wanted to say his master was sorely mistaken, but the words would not dare cross his lips. Not here, anyway. Once Ichabod was satisfied, he lead Young Masbath out of the building, allowing him to bring his father's satchel along. "It is yours, after all," he reasoned, and promised he would help the boy ponder through what was left in his father's handwriting later on.

When they arrived back to the mansion, Ichabod fetched each of them a glass of water, and they stood in the kitchen sipping it.

"Sir," Young Masbath began timidly. "I think…you may have made an error in your judgement."

Icahbod raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" he asked. "What do you mean?"

Young Masbath glanced around, making sure no one was in earshot. He even peered through the kitchen doorway, and found Baltus sitting in the living room, gazing out the window with a glass of brandy in his hand. The Lady Van Tassell was nowhere to be seen, nor was Katrina once again.

"Why would…" he lowered his voice. "Baltus Van Tassell wish to murder for more profit and land? He already has enough to live comfortably for the rest of his life. It does not make sense!"

Ichabod finished the last of his water, and set the glass down on the countertop.

"Sadly, it is an addiction," he explained. "once people have a taste of what it is like to be wealthy, it grabs hold in a gruesome way. Murder for profit is not an unheard of act."

Young Masbath knew this to be true, especially from all kinds of stories his father used to tell him when he was younger. At last they headed upstairs to Ichabod's bedroom, where they were surprised to see Katrina sitting at his desk. She was peering at the old ledger, an unreadable expression on her face.

"Katrina!" Ichabod gasped, causing her to turn, an almost too-sweet smile on her face. "Why are you in my room?"

Young Masbath greeted her with a polite nod, and went to sit his father's and Ichabod's satchel on the bed.

"Because it is yours," she replied innocently. "Was it wicked of me?"

Ichabod raised an eyebrow, though he was still clearly suspicious.

"No," he replied.

"I missed you," Katrina continued. "where did you go?"

Ichabod glanced at Young Masbath, who raised his eyes knowingly. "To the Notary," he explained. "I had some questions I had to ask Hardenbrook."

Katrina wet her lips. "And did you learn anything of interest?"

Ichabod immediately realized she had been glancing through his ledger, and started for the desk, shutting it at once. "Perhaps," he replied. "Now, I…"

"My father," Katrina began slowly, and Young Masbath's head shot up with alarm.

"Your father…!" Ichabod blinked nervously.

"Yes," she continued, "my father thinks you should return to New York."

Ichabod frowned. "Really?" he asked. "Why is that?"

She fiddled with the bracelet on her wrist. "I don't know," she admitted. "perhaps he looked in your ledger and did not like what he saw."

Ichabod cleared his throat, feeling somewhat dizzy. "I…" he paused. "I am sorry, Katrina, but I must ask you…"

She scowled slightly. "Then I shall leave you to your thoughts," she replied, before sweeping out of the room. Ichabod blew out his breath with frustration, immediately disposing of the documents from the Notary into the drawer of his desk. He did not notice Katrina waiting by the doorway for a moment, though she was gone by the time he turned again. What he saw on the floor made him cry out, and he leapt onto the chair at once. Young Masbath jumped at the noise, and then realized his master was looking at an enormous spider crawling along in the direction of the bed.

"It's just a spider, sir," he chuckled, and Ichabod clung to the wall for support, feeling darkness cloud his vision. He did not handle spiders well, not at all; nor any type of bug for that matter. It always baffled him when he could disect a dead body, but a tiny critter scared him out of his wits. _Perhaps because they can sneak out from anywhere, _he thought, begging Young Masbath to kill it. Then, remembering his mother's warning of "harm not" , he changed his mind.

"No, stun it!" he said, and Young Masbath rolled his eyes slightly, getting down on his hands and knees to peer underneath the bed, where the spider had crawled. His eyes widened when he saw something of a light purple shade there, and immediately stood up again.

"Sir, there is something under here," he announced, and thought for a second. "Help me move the bed."

Ichabod continued clinging to the wall, his fingers aching a little.

"No, no, I mustn't," he whispered. "You do it." He knew he sounded foolish, but he would faint at once if the spider came into view. Young Masbath sighed, but gave in, and pulled the bed away from the wall. Ichabod's eyes widened at what appeared beneath it: a chalk drawing, very similar to those his mother used to sketch. He had not seen this one before, however, but clearly Young Masbath had.

The boy drew in his breath, and stepped back; the spider was crawling on the center of what appeared to be the sketch of an eye.

"The evil eye," he gasped. "it is someone casting spells against you!"

Ichabod slowly stepped down from the chair, the fear of the spider forgotten for a moment. "But who!" he thought, and frowned deeply. Katrina had been in his room while he and Young Masbath were out; but why would she do such a terrible thing?

With his help, the managed to get the bed back into place, and he sat down on it, massaging his aching head. So much information was hitting him at once; it was boggling. They heard the front door open again at that moment, and a female voice in the background. Almost at once, Ichabod and Young Masbath were to their feet, and hurried downstairs, with the hope that it might be Sarah's return.

In the meantime, Katrina came out of her own bedroom, her eyes cool, and she snuck into Ichabod's room. She had seen where he concealed the documents from Hardenbrook's, and knew she must at once steal them. _How dare he think such a thing about my father? _she thought, her blood boiling with anger. _It is outrageous! _she wished she could destroy the ledger as well, but she had found doodles of herself by Ichabod on one of the pages, and it did not seem right somehow.

She listened carefully, fearing Ichabod and Young Masbath would return, but when they did not a minute later, she rushed into her bedroom. A fire already roared in the hearth before her bed, and at once she tossed the documents inside, watching as the paper crumbled amongst the flames. Tears filled her eyes as she immediately grabbed her cloak, and hurried down the steps to the front door.

"Katrina?" Ichabod called with surprise, but she did not turn at his voice; he could hear her soft sobs as she ran down the front steps of the mansion, and turned to Young Masbath with surprise.

Katrina could not run fast enough, and she had no clue where she planned on going. She was so angry, and the sobs were coming more loudly now; the man she thought she loved was just as villainous as Brom Van Brunt! She grabbed her horse from the stables and rode off, eventually approaching the old broken down cottage. She stood before it sniffing hard, and fell to her knees by the ash, where she had shown Ichabod her ability to sketch as her mother had.

The "evil eye" had been wasted, clearly…she was furious with herself for being so niaeve! Chanting quietly to herself, she banged the stone, and did not see Ichabod riding up nearly an hour after she arrived. She seemed to sense his presence, and stood, clenching her fists and turning slowly to face him.

"Katrina?" he leapt down from Gunpowder's back; how ironic they were meeting here alone again? He walked towards her, and glanced at the ash pile. "You have taken the evidence and burned it."

Katrina scowled deeply. "So that you would not have it to accuse my father,' she hissed, and he ran his fingers through his hair, obviously flustered. "how could you?" she continued. "I trusted you!"

"I accuse no one," he replied. "but if there is guilt I can not alter it, however much it grieves me."

Katrina lowered her head, fighting the urge to slap him across the face. "If you knew him, you would not have such harsh thoughts about him," she snapped. "No. Not if you felt anything for me."

"I do not," he replied, "know of one or the other. And I am heartsick with it."

She moved back in the direction of her horse. "I think you have no heart," she replied coolly. "and I had a mind once to give you mine."

Ichabod frowned. "Yes," he agreed. "I think you loved me that day you followed me into the Western Woods…for braving such peril."

Katrina stormed away from him, unable to take it anymore. "What peril was there for me, if it were my own father who controlled the headless horseman?" she mounted Snow White, and glanced over her shoulder. "I curse you, Ichabod Crane," she seethed. "I curse the day you came to Sleepy Hollow." with that, she dug her heels into the horse's sides, and took off towards the mansion once more.

Ichabod stood watching as she disappeared through the mist, and sat down on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest. What had he done?

_**authors note some of the speech in this chapter is from the illustrated script, though most of it is created by myself.**_


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Ichabod sat by the cottage for quite some time, trying to figure out how to reconcile with Katrina. It made sense now, why she had been so cold with he and Young Masbath that morning, when they returned from the Notary's. She'd seen his notes in the ledger, for he had suspected her father to be in charge of the killings quite some time before. _Perhaps there is nothing to be done, _he thought, strugglig to his feet when the cold became too much, and walked towards Gunpowder. _I must finish what I came to do, and return to New York. _

When he arrived back to the mansion, he found Young Masbath waiting for him in his room, and the boy inquired if everything was all right. "I am afraid Katrina and I have had a bit of a falling out," Ichabod admitted, sitting down on his bed, grateful to remove his boots for the time being, and the boy frowned.

"I am sorry," he apologized. "She was angry about what we discovered at Hardenbrooks today, wasn't she?"

Ichabod nodded. "I'm afraid so," he replied. "If you are right and Baltus is innocent, I must make it up to her. But now, we must concentrate on what information we have, and how we are going to go about persuing it."

Young Masbath brought the ledger over to his master, and sat down next to him on the mattress. Ichabod was a bit surprised by the sudden closeness; the boy usually sat down on the chair by the window. Once the initial shock wore off, the Constable began pouring over his notes, trying to place them in tangible order from the first day. He was embarassed by his doodles of Katrina scattered throughout the pages, but Young Masbath did not mention them at all.

"I just do not see who else would be responsible," Ichabod murmered. "all of the evidence does point to Baltus. He is the next of kin now that the Widow Winship is dead...and no new wills have been created."

"Things may not always be what they seem, though," Young Masbath admitted with a yawn, and apologized afterwards.

"Very true, and well said, lad," Ichabod agreed, remembering the incident with his father. "You are correct in that good and evil sometimes wear each other's clothes...but until we have another suspect, then we must rely on the information we have."

Young Masbath nodded. "Are you going to talk to Katrina's father in private?" he asked, and Ichabod looked at him.

"I do believe so," he said. "but we must not startle him. It must be brought up very..." he yawned as well, and Young Masbath let out a small giggle.

"Perhaps you should rest now," he suggested. "It is getting late, and we have had a long couple of days. I'll keep watch and let you know if anything happens."

Ichabod started to protest, but his eyelids were feeling considerably heavier than before. He agreed to lay down for a bit, and Young Masbath pulled his chair to the foot of his master's bed, which was closer to the door. The boy was very amused when the Constable started to snore slightly a half hour later, and glanced over his shouler. As he sat listening intently for any sudden movements down below, he wondered if Ichabod would take him along when he returned to New York after the investigations were over. The thought of being in a large city with tons of people was exciting; nothing interesting happened in Sleepy Hollow until the headless horseman came about.

In fact, Young Masbath did not have a single friend to speak of in this town. The boys his age in the village thought him a bit queer, and stayed out of his way for the most part. _Perhaps that is why I like Constable Crane so much, _he thought. _He and I are similar in a lot of ways. _

At least three full hours went by, and not a single noise could be heard in the house. Ichabod continued to sleep, occasionally murmering something under his breath, and switching positions. Darkness soon fell, and Young Masbath went to light a candle, setting it on the desktop. He was about to sit down in his chair again when he caught sight of something black sliding past the crack of the door. Wordlessly, he opened it, peering out. A figure in a black cloack was making its way towards the front, and Young Masbath felt a pang of fear, remembering his visions by the old Crone's cave and the Notary's office.

The figure was holding a lantern, and almost appeared to be floating in mid air, the steps were so smooth.

"Sir!" Young Masbath rushed over to his master's bedside, shaking Ichabod's shoulder, and the older man jolted awake, startled. "Sir, wake up...someone's leavin'!"

Ichabod sat at once, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and realized it was night time again.

"What?" he asked, and Young Masbath immediately fetched his boots, handing them over.

"I saw someone in a black cloak leaving the house," he whispered. "I couldn't tell if it were a male or a female, but the person was holding a lantern..."

Ichabod immediately pulled on his boots at once, grabbed his coat, and without time to fetch anything else, brought Young Masbath outside. The two reached the porch just in time to see the figure going towards the woods, and Ichabod blew out his breath softly.

"I wonder what's happening," Young Masbath whispered, and he glanced over his shoulder.

"We musn't waste any time," he whispered, and they immediately hurried after the "creature" as fast as they could. Ichabod's legs were longer, so it was slightly difficult to keep up for Young Masbath, who had to beg his master to "slow down" a couple of times. They reached the woods, and had a bit of trouble keeping up with the creature amongst the thick trees. Ichabod eventually saw it going down a slope, and ordered Young Masbath to remain behind.

"Sir..." the boy squeaked, and Ichabod touched his shoulders.

"If you see anything at all, or if you are in trouble, just yell," he whispered, and Young Masbath wet his lips, nodding in obedience. He watched as Ichabod descended the hill, and saw the figure waiting for someone. It did not sense him at all, thank goodness, and when the Reverend Steenwyck arrived, confusion billowed in the Constable's mind. The cloak was soon shed, revealing the form of Lady Van Tassell. She stood grinning wickedly, and Steenwyck immediately embraced her; the two were pressing their lips passionately against each other, unable to get enough. Soon they were down on the ground with the Reverend on top; his wig was no longer on, revealing a head of strawberry blonde hair.

Lady Van Tassell's eyes were closed for the most part; she groaned with pleasure at Steenwyck's sexual thrusts. Ichabod swallowed, quite certain he was going to loose his meager supper, but could not draw himself away. Had this been going on long before tonight?

Lady Van Tassell soon reached for a metallic dagger hidden in the hilt of her skirt, and at first, it appeared as though she were going to tear the flesh from the Reverend's back. Instead, though, she drew the tip of the dagger across her pale, smoothe palm, producing a small ribbon of blood. Ichabod blinked stupidly as she tossed the knife away, smeering the blood on Steenwyck's skin. Ichabod would have stayed to watch more of the incident, but felt a terribe tickle in his nose.

_Blast! _he cursed silently to himself, desparately trying to fight it. "_HUSHHUUHH!_" he burried his nose into his shoulder, trying in vain to stifle it, but the noise was still ridiculously loud. At once he took off from the spot, not wanting anyone to notice he had been spying. He found Young Masbath waiting where he'd left him, and immediately they began to run towards the village.

"What is it you saw, sir?" Young Masbath asked, for his master had been gone for a good twenty minutes.

Ichabod was unsure of how to break the news to the ten year old boy, and his nose still bothered him on top of everything else. "A beast with two backs," was all he could come up with, and reached into his pocket for his handkerchief.

"A beast with..." Young Masbath raised his eyes. "What will we find next in the Western Wood?"

Ichabod glanced at him. "I would have discovered more, but Im afraid I sneezed," he admitted, and the boy frowned.

"I wondered what that noise was in the distance," Young Masbath repiled, and Ichabod smirked slightly. "I'm glad you're all right, sir."

They entered the house at once, and Ichabod ran as fast as he could up to his quarters, still trembing over what he had seen in the grove. Young Masbath offered to make him a cup of tea to calm his nerves, and Ichabod agreed to the suggestion. When the boy was gone, he paced back and forth, trying to make sense of everything. _Why would Baltus murder just so he could have more land and money? _he rubbed his chin, his eyebrows knitting in thought. _What I whitnessed tonight does give a new light on the situation. But why would the Lady Van Tassell be commiting such an act? It does seem quite plausible, though, that she could be his accomplice..._

He shuddered, burrying his nose in his handkerchief again. "_HehCHUUUUH!_" he sniffed, sitting down again, and pondered over his ledger. "_HehCHUUUUH! _Blast it," he cursed again, and gave his nose a blow, which was starting to feel slightly sore to the touch. He rubbed his chest gently, resting his eyes a little. He had no idea how he planned on cornering Baltus Van Tassell without coming off as being too suspicious.

Young Masbath eventually brought up his tea, which he thanked the boy for, and sipped from it. "Sir?"

Ichabod raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. "Mmmm?" he asked, releived at the warm liquid as it slid into his stomach.

"You did promise me you would help me look at my father's remaining documents."

Ichabod nodded, encouraging Young Masbath to bring his father's satchel over to the bed. "Did he ever write you a will, lad?" he asked, and Young Masbath shrugged.

"Not sure," he admitted, as they began to peer through the documents. One appeared to be a farmer's journal, where Jonathan Masbath Senior kept track of the daily happenings upon their land. The satchel contained mostly letters between Mr. Masbath and his wife, including a hand drawing done of Young Masbath as a little boy. Ichabod watched as Young Masbath's face softened at each find, and smiled faintly.

"I know what it's like to loose someone you love," he said, and Young Masbath sniffed.

"I'm sorry, sir," he admitted. "I..."

Ichabod gave the boy a hug, and encouraged him to lay down and rest while it was still dark. He did not lay down until very late, pouring over the documents in Jonathan Masbath's briefcase. It was all very eery, reading the notes of a dead man, but he hoped to find some sort of clue leading to the murderer. When he finally did doze off, it felt as though he'd only been resting for a couple of minutes before the morning arrived. Young Masbath, as always, had everything ready for his master at the start of each day since he began his duties. They both paused in front of Katrina's closed door, and Ichabod thought seriously about knocking to see if she would speak to him again, but he decided against it.

"Are you all right, sir?" Young Masbath asked, and the constable turned to look at him, confused for a moment. "You just stopped."

Ichabod blinked, and then gave a nod, massaging his forehead wearily. "Of course," he promised. "Of course...I...I'm just thinking." he sighed, and led the way down the steps to the kitchen. Breakfast was being prepared by Lady Van Tassell, who stood at the fireplace stirring something in the large iron pot. The one thing Ichabod noticed above all else, was a bandage tied very tightly around her right palm. She hummed to an old tune as she worked, looking up in surprise when she heard someone enter the room.

"Oh, good morning, Constable Crane," she greeted in her smoothe, kind voice. Young Masbath bowed to her, and waited until Ichabod gave the word before he sat down at the table.

"Good morning, Lady Van Tassell," Ichabod replied. "I was...wondering if you have spoken to Katrina at all this morning. I saw her bedroom door was closed, and is she not usually awake at this hour as well?"

The older woman narrowed her dark eyes as she began to tip fresh porridge into bowls for each of her guests, and Young Masbath wrinkled his nose a little at it. He'd never been very fond of porridge, even though his mother kept insisting it was very healthy for him. Usually, though, the Van Tassells treated themselves to large breakfasts of fresh eggs, bacon, sausages, hot cakes...porridge was a rarity.

"I did peek in to make sure she was not ill," Lady Van Tassell explained, "but she insisted she wished to have time to herself. She will not be coming down for quite a while."

Ichabod stirred his porridge absentmindedly, and gave Young Masbath a faint smile. "It won't swallow you, lad," he chuckled, as the boy hadn't taken a single bite of his breakfast just yet. "Go on...you'll need your strength for today."

Young Masbath poured a bit of marmalade into the mixture, forcing himself to take one spoonful at a time. "Oh...Constable Crane," she began once breakfast had ended, and Young Masbath was encouraged to go out and fetch more wood for the fireplace. "You have not asked me how I have hurt my hand since yesterday, which would have been polite!" she stepped closer to him, and Ichabod felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Her voice was still kind, but chillingly so, and made him feel very uncomfortable. "In fact..." she drew slowly, and began to unwrap the bandage; his heart thumped loudly in his chest..."you have been just as careful not to look at it as not to mention it." she held her hand in front of his face, producing a very long, deep knife wound. Ichabod felt his stomach churn at the sight of the dried blood, and closed his eyes for a moment.

"I..." he began, and found himself at a loss for words. "I'm sorry, how did...how did you..." he swallowed, rooted to the spot.

Lady Van Tassell lowered her hand, and suddenly her once polite voice turned harsh and cold. "I know you saw me," she hissed, and he stared at her. "I know you followed last night! But you must promise not to tell my husband what you saw..." she paused. "PROMISE me!"

Ichabod jumped, just as Mr. Van Tassell appeared in the kitchen, looking very anxious. "A terrible tragedy," he cried, and Lady Van Tasell turned to look at him. "was just discovered early this morning! Hardenbrook has hung himself in the night...he is dead!"

A long silence filled the air, and Ichabod felt a small pang of guilt. Hardenbrook was dead, because Ichabod had confronted him on his role with the murderous conspiracy. Young Masbath returned with the firewood, and noticed the thick tension in the air, along with the fear on everyone's faces.

"What's happened? Has there been another murder?" he asked quietly, and Lady Van Tassell placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Not a murder, boy, but another death, yes."

Ichabod cleared his throat, wishing he could leave the room at once, but everyone turned to stare at him, as though waiting for an explination.

"Who?" Young Masbath breathed, and Ichabod answered him, receiving a pair of very wide eyes in return.

"What happened to hi..." Young Masbath continued, and Ichabod gave him a small nudge, promising he'd reveal the details later, and the boy placed the wood where it belonged, before hurrying out of the way.

"I'm glad you're here, Constable," Mr. Van Tassell added, fiddling with the ring on his finger, "because I'm going to suggest that you pack your things and leave at once. There is going to be a meeting at the church tonight...held by the Reverend, and he is planning on speaking out against you!"

Ichabod glanced at Lady Van Tassell, who seemed just as surpised as he was. "Me?" he asked, and Mr. Van Tassell nodded feverishly.

"Sir, if you are wise, you will leave this place! I do not wish to see harm befall an innocent of this village." he helped himself to a cup of tea, his hands shaking from nerves. Ichabod decided it was best to leave the room, though he couldn't leave the village...not now, not at the height of the incident! If he returned to New York without any conclusions, he would be fired for sure!

Young Masbath was waiting for him in the bedroom, now sitting in his usual chair by the window. "Sir?" he spoke quietly, and Ichabod sat down on the edge of the bed with his ledger, jotting down notes about Hardenbrook and the upcoming meeting with Steenwyck. "what are we going to do?"

Ichabod paused in his writing and looked up, narrowing his eyes. "We are going to go to that meeting," he replied, and Young Masbath looked relieved, just as a spider began to crawl past his master's feet. Unfortunately, Ichabod saw that too, and with a cry of alarm, the older man leapt to his feet, climbing onto the bed and grabbing the wall. The spider moved swiftly for the space under the bed, and Ichabod begged the boy to "Kill it, kill it!"

Young Masbath blinked, amused that while Ichabod could do expriements on dead bodies and end up covered with blood, but he could not handle a simple crawling critter. "It's just a spider," he laughed, and Ichabod gripped the edge of the wall tighter.

"Yes, I can see that," he replied slowly. "I don't want it crawling on me in the middle of the night. You don't have to kill it, as I initially suggested...just get rid of it!"

Young Masbath smirked. "I'll need you to get down if I'm going to move the bed," he chuckled, and Ichabod did as he was told, backing up against the desk. Once the bed was pulled out from the wall, both of them noticed a light purple chalk drawing on the floor. "Wait a minute..." he moved the bed further away, and revealted a circular drawing with the picture of an eye in the center. Ichabod saw the spider sitting innocently in the center, and very timidly leaned forward to take a better look.

"What is it?" he asked, and Young Masbath knelt down, taking the spider gently and bringing it to throw out the window. Ichabod leapt aside as this process was completed, and then both of them knelt down to inspect the vandalism.

"I've seen this before," Young Masbath breathed. "My Mother always warned me about evil and witchcraft, and knew the meanings of all sorts of symbols! This is called the 'Evil Eye'...it is someone casting spells against you!"

Ichabod was immediately reminded of the drawings Katrina did by the old cottage, before she begame angry and vengeful towards him. She had stolen the evidence from his desk drawer while he and Young Masbath were out berating the Notary, and it was quite possible she had done the drawing during that time. He felt suddenly dizzy, and it took quite a bit of willpower not to collapse into another faint. "What'll we do, sir?" Young Masbath squeaked, and Ichabod immediately grabbed his notebook, sketching the drawing on one of his blank pages, writing on top of the picture _EVIL EYE. KATRINA. _

"Fetch a bucket and a scrubbing brush," he said softly, "we are going to rid the room of this evil, before it can truly take it's grasp. As long as it is erased before dark, I do believe we will both be safe."

Young Masbath ran out at once, his boots thumping anxiously along the stairs.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Katrina remained in her bedroom for a long time, staring into the flames crackling in her small fireplace. She knew Ichabod stood outside of her door, but refused to acknowledge him. Anger and frustration burned inside of her, yet his innocense to the danger of magic and the unknown helped to put that out a little. It was so difficult to hate someone who only wanted to learn the truth of the world, but all the same, the idea that he accused her beloved father was devastating.

When her father himself came to tell her of Hardenbrook's suicide and the meeting at the church, fear clutched at her stomach once more. She no longer despised Ichabod Crane; she feared for him now, feared for his life, and would rather have seen him sent back to the city than endure an angry mob.

"Have you seen Constable Crane?" she asked as they gathered their cloacks, and Baltus stared at her in surprise.

'No, I have not seen him since breakfast, but I did inform him it would be best if he left for New York at once. It is not safe her any longer. Whether or not he heeded my advice is uncertain at present. But we have no time to ponder what happened to the Constable; we must make haste!" Katrina worried her bottom lip as she followed her father out into the frigid cold evening, shivering despite her wraps. Baltus searched the grounds of the mansion for his wife, and when he as unable to find her, he ordered his daughter to make way for the church ahead of him.

"Are you sure you'll be all right, father? It's dangerous..." Katrina began, and he nodded, insisting she continue, and with a small sigh she did as she was told. As she walked along the dirt road, she realized her anger was not at all what she thought; she was frustrated, frustrated at a man whom she found to be so unique and exciting could think of the world in such narrrow-minded terms! Katrina prayed to the higher being that she would be able to see him again one last time, though as the mist billowed around her skirts, she had a feeling all hope in that regard was more than likely lost.

Ichabod, meanwhile, followed Young Masbath in the direction of the church. He wasn't sure why the Reverend wanted to speak out against him of all people--esepcially when his only intention was to assist the town to the best of his ability.

What confused him most was Katrina--had she told Steenwyck of his discovery about her father? AFter all, the drawing of the Evil Eye remained in his mind, even long after he and Young Masbath scrubbed it off of the floor.

"Sir?" Young Masbath spoke, and he turned his head, realizing he'd stopped in his tracks.

"I'm sorry, lad," he apologized. "my mind is all over the place."

They hid amongst the trees alongside the church when they arrived, watching as the villagers appeared in groups. He searched for Katrina's beautiful face and golden hair, but did not see her amongst them just yet. It was so dreadfully cold, that he found himself shivering so hard his teeth chattered, which was difficult to control.

"Sir," Young Masbath whispered, "perhaps we should go in before you catch cold again?"

Ichabod was about to respond, when Baltus Van Tassell's voice rang out over the commotion. Katrina was just appoaching the gate with hands clutching her skirts, avoiding mud, and she whirled around to find her father galloping madly in the direction of the group. "The horseman!" he cried, and she ran towards him, fear in her eyes. "The horseman, save me!"

He dismounted, and she grabbed his arms, unable to speak for the moment. "What's happened?" she finally squeaked, and he looked into her eyes.

"The horseman's killed your stepmother," he said, and she shrunk back an inch, feeling sick to her stomach. Before she could inquire for further details, he grabbed her and drug her through the gates at once; so quickly that they did not see Ichabod nor Young Masbath come forward.

It was most certainly warmer inside the church, but the shrill whinny and sound of galloping hooves sent more chills down the spines of everyone there. Men grabbed rifles and bolted for the windows, not wanting to take any chances, while the women and remaining children huddled behind pews or in the corners. Steenwyck approached Baltus Van Tassell, fury in his eyes, and no one paid any attention to Ichabod.

"Why should we die for you?" he exclaimed, grabbing the wealthy farmer's jacket collar, forcing Katrina back a few feet, and she stood staring as her father struggled in the large man's fingers. "You're the one the horesman wants! Get out!"

Ichabod's mouth hung open with surprise, and he turned to find Young Masbath at one of the windows, holding a rifle in his own small hands.

"Stop this," he ordered at once, and tried to break through the fighting. "Let's talk about the facts logically!" Ichabod failed to gain their attention, and was whipped backwards, tumbling against the nearest pew. The pain in his back was severe for a moment, and it took a lot of willpower not to cry out. Before he knew what was happening, Baltus snatched the gun from the Reverend's pocket, and aimed it at him, just as Dr. Lancaster rushed forward.

"Out of my way!" he ordered to the group behind him, who broke apart to let him through. "Get back, all of you, get back!"

Ichabod managed to stand fully upright after a moment, but he was officially at a loss of what to do. He needed his ledger, cursing his luck for having left it at the mansion in his hurry to head for the church. Young Masbath called his name once, but Ichabod did not trust to leave Baltus alone with the other two for very long. The stress of the situation was causing the older man to crumble, and fast...it was frightening, actually.

"Sir, come and look!" Young Masbath hurried to take Ichabod's arm, and managed to pull him towards the window. Ichabod found it useless to argue with the boy, and when he peered through the hole that once contained stained glass, he saw the horseman in front of the gate. The black stallion skittered wildly from side to side, occasionally rearing and whinnying loud. He watched as the horseman brandished his axe, and after throwing it in the direction of the church, it disapperated right before touching the ground.

Ichabod rubbed his chin, and turned to Young Masbath, who awaited his reaction. The horseman, due to his interaction with the devil, could not come near the church. As long as they were inside this building, they were safe. "He cannot enter," he muttered to himself, and after thanking the young ward, he hurried to the still bickering Mr. Van Tassell, Reverend Steenwyck, and Dr. Lancaster. They were speaking so quickly that it was difficult to understand, but Ichabod was determined to have his voice heard.

"He cannot pass the gates!" he shouted, but no one seemed to listen; their own panic kept them from thinking sensibly.

Katrina, meanwhile, knelt down in the center of the two sections of pews, her eyes closed as her hands sketched something smoothly against the wood. She appeared to be in another world, one that made sense to her and no other. Ichabod did not notice this in his continued attempt to get the three men to focus on him, and closed his eyes when Baltus shouted, "The next one who lay's their hands on me will have a bullet!" he cocked the pistol, and Dr. Lancaster timidly stepped forward.

"Enough have died already," he began, "it is time to confess our sins..."

The Reverend shoved him sideways, but the doctor did not falter. "What is it that you know?" Baltus hissed, not letting the gun fall. "Tell, or I'll shoot!"

Ichabod covered his face with one hand...it was hopeless; what had he gotten himself into? This case was purely hopeless, and Katrina was right...perhaps it was best if he returned to the city as soon as possible.

"Your four friends played you false," the doctor continued, fiddling with the cross he held in his hands, and Ichabod recognized it as the charm Magistrate Phillips carried with him at all times before his murder. "we were devilishly possessed by one who..." he barely finished his sentence, when the Reverend removed the cross from the wall, slamming the end of it on top of his head. Dr. Lancaster stood rigid for a moment, before toppling dead to the floor. Baltus finally released the bullet from the gun, hitting Steenwyck in the gut, and the heavyset man followed in suit of the doctor. Ichabod stood frozen on the spot as his eyes focused on the victims, watching as a pool of blood began to collect between them.

Screams erupted from the back of the church, and he'd forgotten about the rest of the villagers who remained fearful of their lives. Baltus, horrified by what he'd just done, made his way up to the highest level of the church, right in front of the circular window. He aimed his gun over the crowd, and Young Masbath's eye widened, unsure of what to do. He was under Constable Crane's jurisdiction, but Ichabod seemed at a loss of how to handle the situation himself.

"There is a conspiracy here!!!" Baltus screamed, just as Katrina stepped forward. "and I will seek it out!"

Silence filled the air at last, an eery silence. For the first time that day, Ichabod turned and caught Katrina's gaze, watching as she narrowed her eyes with--was it hatred? Or pity? He didn't have much time to decide, for before he could move towards her, the glass shattered behind Baltus, and the sharp tip of a fence post shot through his middle. Blood sprayed everywhere, causing Katrina to scream, and she ran towards her father, who hung limply as though he were a puppet. No one made a sound, but only watched as his writhing body was pulled like a slingshot through the window, disappearing from sight.

Katrina pushed past Ichabod on her way up the steps, ignoring the blood stains on the wood, and Ichabod followed her at once. "Katrina..." he began, and she fought him, tears flowing down her cheeks as she struggled to move towards the window. For a young woman, she certainly had strength, and managed to wrench herself out of his grasp. The two of them shared the window, watching as the horseman drug her father at full force towards the remaining fence. Within seconds his head was lodged between two more posts, and down came the silver sword, glistening in the hazy moonlight. Ichabod felt his stomach churn as it rolled along the uneven ground, grateful he hadn't eaten much that day.

Katrina fainted a moment later, and when Ichabod whirled around at the sound of a _thump, _he noticed a light purple stain on her thumb and forefinger. Stunned by this sudden change of events, he looked over the rail of the church, and noticed that she'd drawn the same diagram as Young Masbath found under her bed; this time, in the center of the church. It took quite some time before anyone made a movement; Young Masbath stared at Ichabod with wide, dark eyes, clutching his rifle for dear life.

Ichabod had to take control now, for he was the only one with any authority at this point in time. No one felt safe enough to leave the church, for fear of the horseman returning, but after Ichabod informed them that the suspect behind the murders had been killed at last, they would be safe to go to their homes.

A few men gave him assistance in carrying Katrina home, and once she lay in her bed, Ichabod went outside to throw up. Young Masbath stood with his master while he retched repeately into a bush, shaking and sobbing with anxiety.

"It's all right, sir," Young Masbath soothed as he rubbed the Constable's back. "it's all right."

Ichabod managed to empty everything inside of him, and felt terribly dizzy. He allowed the boy to help him back in, and as he lay upon his own bed, he murmered how he had to leave at once.

"But sir, you can't leave! Not now..." Young Masbath's eyes misted. "we need you!"

Ichabod looked at him darkly, and insisted he go and tell Van Ripper to have a coach ready first thing in the morning. "I have made my final decision," he insisted, "this place is doing more harm than good to what is left of my already weakened mind. I am sorry, Young Masbath."

The boy, devastated, slumped his shoulders and shuffled out of his master's room, at a complete loss of what to do. Van Ripper let him in when he came knocking, and offered a cup of brandy for soothing the nerves.

"No, sir," Young Masbath squeaked as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

"Knew they made a mistake sendin' an outsider here," Van Ripper muttered. "but ah well, what's the use? Go on, lad...he'll need your assisatance during the night, I'm sure. If you need anything, just give a holler."

Young Masbath thanked him, and headed back to the mansion. He continued to sit in Ichabod's room, remaining as faithful as he could for what it was worth. Despite the Constable's odd antics for a gentleman of his age and status, he'd begun to look to him as a father figure. There was always something new to learn when he followed Ichabod Crane, and without him in Sleepy Hollow, he had no one. Early that morning, Ichabod awoke, and began to pack his bags. He caught sight of the servant boy sleeping in his chair by the window, his small head leaning against the wood. If he had the means, it would certainly be worth taking the boy back to New York, but as it were, he could barely afford to feed himself on a regular basis. He had no luck in sneaking away, for Young Masbath's sharp ears caught the sound of the door opening and closing.

"Sir..." he began sleepily, rubbing his eyes, and Ichabod sighed.

"Young Masbath...if you wish to say goodbye, meet me in the parlor...I wish to pay one final visit to Katrina before I leave."

Young Masbath hung his head as he obeyed, offering to take his masters bags. Ichabod picked up his ledger from the desktop, thumbing through the worn pages. He smiled ever so slightly when he came across a few of the doodles he'd done to pass the endless hours: portraits of his beloved Katrina, the only angel he'd truly known. _Katrina Van Tassell, Katrina and Ichabod Forever Love, Katrina Crane..._he sighed longingly, touching the tiny replica of her sweet lips, before tossing the leatherbound book into the still cackling fire.

He left his quarters and entered Katrina's modest bedroom, watching as she continued to sleep, her golden hair rippling over the pillowcase. If it hadn't been for the rise and fall of her chest to indicate that she was breathing, he would have thought her dead.

In his usual quiet voice, he moved closer to her bed and spoke: "It was an evil spirit that possessed you...I pray God it is satisfied now and that you find peace. My life is over...spared for a lifetime of horrors in my sleep, waking each day...to grief." he reached over and squeezed her wrist ever so gently, before turning and heading for the parlor. Young Masbath waited for him as instructed, his hands behind his back. It was clear the boy was angry at his sudden decision to depart, but there was nothing more to be done in this place.

"You think it was Katrina, don't you?" he suddenly demanded as they went out onto the porch to await the coach. Ichabod turned at once, and stared into the boy's eyes.

"That can never be counted!" he hissed, and Young Masbath placed a hand on the porch railing.

"A strange sort of witch, with a kind and loving heart!" he cried. "how can you think so?" his eyes shone with a new flood of tears, tearing at the Constable's already damaged heart.

"I have good reason," was all he could think of to say in response, and as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew how ridiculous they sounded.

"Then you are bewitched by reason," Young Masbath snarled. "I've known Katrina my whole life, and she would never do anything bad to anybody!"

Icahbod sighed heavily, just as he noticed Van Ripper heading up the drive. "Young Masbath," he began slowly, not wanting another row to begin so shortly before leaving. "It is a hard lesson in a hard world, and you had better learn it. Villainy wears many masks...and none so dangerous as the mask of virtue."

Young Masbath's lips tightened, and he stepped back a pace, refusing to say more. "Farewell," Ichabod finally spoke, squeezing the lad's arm, and turned to Van Ripper who waited patietnly.

"It's all ready for ya, Crane," Van Ripper announced gruffly as he opened the door to the coach, waiting until his passenger was safely and somewhat comfortably inside before shutting it. What Ichabod did not notice as the carriage began to pull slowly away from the Van Tassell mansion, was Katrina's sad face peering through her bedroom window. She'd heard the carriage wheels pull up, and upon an investigation, felt her heart break in two. So she did not dream Ichabod's touch to her wrist after all! He had been in her room to say goodbye, and all she could do was sleep...Katrina broke into tears at once, collapsing upon her bed once again.


End file.
